Conlaodh's Song
by enembee
Summary: Book 2. As the Second War begins, Voldemort becomes obsessed with harnessing the realm of Old Magic to his own ends. Meanwhile, Harry has to contend with the Ministry, ancient foes and the machinations of a world he barely understands.
1. Dead Cities and Lost Ghosts

**CONLAODH'S SONG**

**By enembee**

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**Summary: ** As the Second War begins, Voldemort becomes obsessed with harnessing the realm of Old Magic to his own ends. Meanwhile, Harry has to contend with four mysterious enemies in a race to reach the Old World and control the very essence of magic itself.

**A/N:** This is my first and only AN, so pay attention. This is a sequel to By the Divining Light, though it's probably understandable if you don't want to read that, this is a little less dry than By the Divining Light and more canonish also. This is highly AU, though less AU than Skitterleap, so if you hated that, you might well like this.

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**Chapter One: Dead Cities and Lost Ghosts**

A storm approached, borne on the early morning breeze. It would be the second of the week. Albus Dumbledore could feel it in his bones, could taste the building charge in the air as clearly as he could taste the salt on the sea breeze. It was unnatural.

The birds that roosted here, nesting what crevices the basalt afforded them, could sense it too. There was an apprehension in their movements, in their nervous twittering.

Yet it was not the storm that concerned Dumbledore. He'd known that opening one of the long forgotten places of the world would have severe consequences and he also knew these storms were only the tip of an almighty iceberg.

No, it was not the storms that bothered Dumbledore so much as the calm. It had been months since the resurrection of the Dark Lord, but Voldemort was still yet to make a decisive move. They had almost lost Emmeline Vance, true, but the assassination attempt had been subtle and investigations had been inconclusive.

The calm only suggested one thing to Dumbledore, that Voldemort had learned from his past mistakes and this too weighed heavily on his mind. He had, perhaps foolishly, expected the war to continue where it had halted fourteen years ago. That Voldemort was adapting could only mean one thing.

This was the beginning of a new war; a second war.

And though Voldemort was unnervingly quiet there were whisperings in the dark places, telling tales that chilled the Headmaster's blood. He had quietly harboured the suspicion for more than a decade that Voldemort had employed the use of horcruxes and this theory had been confirmed by Harry and Neville in the Chamber of Secrets.

However, now his sources brought him stories of Voldemort's desire for knowledge. Knowledge of the old world. This unnerved Albus Dumbledore the most. He knew firsthand the terror and power that was hidden in the dark. Indeed, he also knew that he and Harry had barely scratched the surface in their own foray into the deep.

Indeed this place, the Giant's Causeway, was steeped in the oldest magic. It was a place of the old times, forged in the days before there were any human eyes to look upon it. The magic was so deep, so old that even the muggles could feel it.

Although muggle and wizard folk law spoke of warring giants, Dumbledore had his own suspicions. The magic here felt too akin to that which had sealed the Plain of Delight. If Dumbledore was correct and he so often was, there was a gateway here.

Though to what, he dreaded to think.

The magic here was on a scale that was almost unconceivable to him. Perhaps it was for this reason that it had attracted so little wizarding attention, perhaps it was merely the obscurity of the magic involved. It was fair to say that Dumbledore had a perspective on the old magic that neither ancient nor modern scholars would have possessed.

This, if anything, made Dumbledore grateful. As far as he was concerned, whatever was beyond the gateway was best left undisturbed. Yet he was here, meditating on the problem of opening the gateway for a single reason.

Voldemort.

The whispers that had reached the Headmaster's ears told him of Voldemort's growing curiosity with the Giant's Causeway and this terrified him. Whatever power the realm beyond held could not fall into his grasp and so against all his better judgement, Dumbledore's hand was forced.

It was imperative he beat Voldemort to opening the gateway.

At last he turned his view from the sea and to the hexagonal pillars of basalt that stretched into the sea as though in a bid to touch the horizon. And, as he contemplated the columns, the skeletal fingers of adventure beckoned him forward.

With a long-suffering sigh and a small smile, Dumbledore began to descend from the Aird Snout.

It was not particularly hard going. The Sheppard's Path, a long flight of narrow stairs cut into the hillside, provided an easy gradient. Yet, something sinister emanated from the Grand Causeway, a mild discomfort that only grew in severity as he approached.

As he walked out onto the causeway itself, Dumbledore became acutely aware that something was terribly wrong with this place. He realised that he'd stepped into an area of stale, ancient magic, without even noticing. He paused and swallowed, every fibre of his being urging him to go back and for a moment he faltered and turned slightly, eager to withdraw.

No, it would not do to turn back now. Too high a stake rested on his shoulders.

He pressed forward determinedly, though his body shook with a climbing terror and sweat broke out on his forehead and hands. Each step became a mile, the end of the causeway, which couldn't have been more than a hundred meters away became the longest distance he had ever travelled.

With each step it felt as though his viscera were being scooped from his stomach and his vision began to swim. An ungodly wind broke out around him, blowing into his face and body as though trying to prevent him from reaching the end. The world around him darkened and became washed out and stained with a dull violet. Screams echoed through his mind and he fell to his hands and knees, reduced to a halting crawl for the final few yards.

Then as his fingers brushed the waves lapping at the edge of the farthest point of the peninsular, the world righted itself. Colour rushed back to his vision, the wind halted, and his body which had been shaking and flushed felt as though it had never changed at all. His legs which had felt leaden returned to him and he stood gently. Even the screaming in his head had gone, leaving him with only the calls of the gulls and the break of the waves.

Albus Dumbledore rose from his hands and knees and for a moment composed himself.

This situation was most certainly odd.

Never before had he heard of this effect when approaching the end of the causeway. Indeed, he had been here once before as a young man and encountered no such malevolence. For a moment, the fleeting idea that Voldemort had beaten him here came to him, but it was a foolish premise. The Dark Lord didn't trivialise himself with illusions. If it had been Tom Riddle's handiwork, it would have almost certainly been lethal.

Once more, he debated going back. Surely this shouldn't be the work of a man his age. Harry would almost definitely jump at the opportunity to explore this magic.

Then, in a moment of introspection, Dumbledore caught hold of this thought and examined it carefully.

This, he decided, was not his thought. Dumbledore had never been one to pass over a job that he could do himself. Especially one as dangerous as this. A flush of anger rose through the venerable headmaster and he silently berated himself for not noticing the invasion of his mind that he was now all too aware of.

A little prickle behind the eyes was all the sensation he needed to know that any thoughts may not be his own, his memories, affections, his entire outlook could be being modified without his knowledge.

Upon this realisation, he closed his eyes tight shut and the itch behind his eye vanished and his head cleared.

Confusion reigned in the headmaster's head for a few moments. A plethora of ideas, concepts and theories circled in his head, each more bizarre and unlikely than the last. Was he under attack? Had someone recently enchanted this stretch of causeway to entrap or bewitch him? Was this a latent effect of the elf's influence in the Plain of Delight?

No, he reasoned, all of those options would have manifested in another way. Clearly this magic had been here for millennia, so insipid was it that it had almost certainly been here for as long as the rocks had been. Yet he had walked this before as a young man and felt no ill effects. That could only mean one of two things; someone had awakened the magic or he had awakened something in himself in the decades since.

Gingerly, he opened his eyes, ever wary of the same prickling behind his eyes. It didn't come.

Warily, he reached out with his fingers into the air above the sea and felt them brush against a ridge in the air. His nimble fingers explored the phenomenon carefully. A putrid magic emanated from it, magic that reeked of ozone and secrets.

Dumbledore shuddered. There was something inherently alien about this magic. It was like nothing he'd ever known and its purpose evaded him. On his third pass over the ridge, trailing his index finger down the middle he was suddenly struck by vertigo and he had to crouch low to avoid falling.

As his hands touched the stones beneath his feet, his vision was suddenly overwhelmed once more. A blinding hot pain lanced through his brain, forcing his eyes close as he hissed in agony.

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer standing on the Grand Causeway. Indeed, he was no longer standing on anything. With a sudden jolt of horror, Dumbledore realised he was falling. Yet no wind buffeted him as he fell and as he tried to draw breath, he inhaled not life giving air, but a hideous mix of sulphur and carbon dioxide.

Around him, the world glowed red with molten magma that gushed through holes in the walls of the deep pit he was descending into. At intervals along the walls, there was what looked like great cogs, machinery of some kind, turning laboriously as magma gushed through wheels, powering them.

Oddly, as soon as the horror had come, it left him. Instead it had merely been replaced with an odd sense of peace. The most notable sensation he noticed was an all pervasive magic that saturated everything around him. He was drowning in an ocean of magic.

Intrigued, Dumbledore allowed his own magic to investigate that which enveloped him. His consciousness detached from his body and peered out into the magic around him.

And the magic peered back at him.

With a gasp, Dumbledore fell backwards onto the basalt hexagons and lay there panting. He was wonderfully grateful for each gasp of air that he inhaled and for a long, glorious moment, he did nothing but enjoy the sweet tang of the salt air against his tongue and the faint tickle of the water against his feet.

When he rose, he was aware that he was no longer alone.

"Hello Tom," he said quietly and turned to face his old student, his hand slipping inside his pocket, seeking his wand.

"I wouldn't do that, Dumbledore," replied Voldemort lightly. "This magic does not respond well to wand waving."

He casually held up his left hand and Dumbledore was shocked to see the tips of Voldemort's fingers gave way to a strange gaseous secretion.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" asked Voldemort, looking down at his fingers interestedly.

Dumbledore hesitated slightly. This was certainly not what he'd come to expect from Tom Riddle.

"You are a different person today, Tom."

Voldemort laughed and it was no longer the high-pitched shriek that Dumbledore remembered. There was nothing of the old insanity, the desperation that had existed there before. It was rational and deep. Cold fear began to creep into the pit of the Headmaster's stomach.

Voldemort met his eyes and for the first time in twenty years, the two pairs of blue eyes gazed interestedly into each other's. Then Voldemort laughed again, lightly.

"Don't tell me you didn't feel it Albus?" he said hoarsely, almost rapturous in tone. "You stared into the abyss just as I did. Don't tell me you didn't feel the life blood of magic flow around you, the sheer power."

He turned away and Dumbledore seriously considered cursing him in the back. This Voldemort was rational and that terrified him far more than his insanity. Insanity was far more predictable, far less threatening than this.

"It humbled me, Dumbledore," he said finally. "Here I was, caught up in parlour tricks and my own cleverness. I fought for a meagre immortality, for the power to control Britain. Yet, in all this time, what have I achieved?"

He stepped forward towards Dumbledore and for the first time the headmaster saw the feverish gleam in his eye. The excitement in his posture. The smile on his twisted face. Yet, it was certainly less twisted than it had been in Harry's memories.

"I have played for trinkets, for mediocrity. But my eyes are open now. I've seen the stakes that I could play for and they're beyond your wildest dreams, Albus."

He turned his head aside slightly to stare across the water that stretched off toward the horizon and Dumbledore could see the high cheek bones returning, vestiges of Tom Riddle's handsomeness in Voldemort's face.

"You have forsaken your horcruxes?" asked the headmaster in amazement. "You no longer fear death?"

Voldemort snorted.

"Where we go, Dumbledore, death would not dare follow."

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, his mind a whirling confusion of thoughts. Finally, he settled on a simple question.

"We?"

"Don't tell me you don't want to come Dumbledore. I've read your essays, I know your mind. We're more akin than you dare admit, Albus. Think of it; the power of your beloved Hallows wouldn't begin to compare with the power we'd wield. We'd be Gods amongst ants. Me and you, Albus; ruling the world, for eternity." A smile spread across Voldemort's lips. A genuine smile. "For the greater good."

Dumbledore stared at him, his mouth dry, words momentarily lost to him. Then sadly, he sighed and shook his head.

"You have not changed as much as I'd hoped, Tom."

Anger crossed Voldemort's face and he took another step closer to Dumbledore and his eyes gleamed with passion as he spoke, vitriol leaking from every syllable.

"For once in your life, Albus. Cast down your chains of mediocrity! Join me and live to your full potential. Think of the world of possibilities. No more war, no more hate, no more suffering, ever."

"What you seek doesn't exist, Tom," said Dumbledore, his tone gentle, as though speaking to a young boy. "There is power you ought never to seek and believe me, if you go looking for it, I will be there to oppose you every step of the way."

Voldemort stared into his eyes a moment longer, then wavered and spun away.

"Fine," he snapped. "Oppose me and die, that's what it boils down to in the end, Dumbledore. Oppose me and die."

"You won't find what you seek, Voldemort," said Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, who'd been midway through apparition, halted and turned to stare in surprise. "There's nothing there, just dead cities and lost ghosts. An echo of a time long gone. It was hidden for a reason, let it stay that way."

Voldemort regarded him momentarily and then disappeared, leaving Dumbledore alone with the sea and the stone and the gulls.

"I have a feeling," Dumbledore confided in a passing fulmar. "That this is going to be a very different war indeed."

"Caw!" said the fulmar and took off into the early morning sky.


	2. Indigo Girl

**CONLAODH'S SONG****  
****Chapter Two: Indigo Girl**

Icy rain fell upon the country's capital by the bucketful and vicious howling winds that cut through the canyons between high-rise office buildings buffeted the inhabitants on their way to work. The storms which had swept eastward from Ireland across the Irish Sea, borne by the currents of hot air that crept across the Atlantic, had not lost any of their furor.

The high arched ceilings of King's Cross groaned under the tumultuous winds and the penetrating rain dripped between the sheets of glass that comprised the roof and poured down onto the heads of the crowds below.

The platforms themselves teemed with people on this early Monday morning, battling through the elements to work. Blissfully unaware of the magic that had conspired to open the heavens above them.

Likewise, they were ignorant of the magic that moved between them. Little did they know that several hundred that walked amongst them were beings of shattering the very laws of physics their world was built upon. Nor did they know of the existence of an extra platform located between Platforms Nine and Ten.

In a small room set aside from this platform stood a huge fireplace so out of character to the rest of the highly modern building that it couldn't have looked more alien. The ebony mantelpiece, thick and heavyset was elaborately carved, the heads of all manner of exotic beasts appearing to crawl from the wood and the hearth was set deep into the wall.

Only the slightest rumble preceded the arrival of a dark haired and dark-eyed teenager. The boy, no older than fifteen, appeared in a flash of green fire and emerged from the fireplace looking distinctly pale. A harsh cough came unbidden to his lips and a small cloud of soot escaped his hand and rose into the air.

"I _hate_ floo-travel." he said to himself.

He took a moment to check the small platinum band around his neck was still there and brush the soot from his robes. He turned just in time to see a second person, almost identical to him, step out of the fireplace. A flash of annoyance surged through him as he saw his father's untroubled face and spotless robes.

Although he no longer fell flat on his face every time, floo travel still made him feel nauseous every time. The annoyance was only further compounded by the fact that he was perfectly able to apparate.

Indeed, he would have insisted upon it, had Dumbledore not expressly forbade it. Even then, Harry spent several futile days trying to think of some sort of loophole in his mentor's command.

Of course, he understood the wisdom in the Headmaster's words, blatantly flaunting both the restriction of under-age wizardry and British apparition laws would only give the currently hostile Ministry an excuse to come down hard on him.

But then Harry _hated_ floo travel.

James Potter surveyed his son for a moment with a scrutinizing gaze, the one that made Harry feel as though he'd never lived up to his expectations. Then, he nodded curtly and followed Harry out of the little room.

The platform was as packed as ever and though the atmosphere was as electrified as it always had been, a slight trepidation was written on the faces of each adult there. They were all to some degree aware of the highly charged magic in the air.

Something had changed.

Yet the scarlet Hogwart's Express stood, immaculate and gleaming, already filling with its usual mix of excited children looking forward to a new year of magic and adventure.

Harry had barely enough time to take all of this in before a trio of girls passed, giggling and whispering.

"Hi Harry!" they chorused as they passed and Harry felt even more uncomfortable by his father's side.

"Hi," he echoed, half-heartedly.

He turned to see his father produce his miniature trunk from his pocket and expand it with a twist of his wand. A gentle warmth spread on to his face as their eyes met and despite himself, Harry felt a small tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You want me to stow it for you?" asked James.

"Nah, I've got it," said Harry gently and bent to take it by the handle, it was surprisingly light and they walked a little down the side of the train until they came to a door.

Another gabble of girls passed.

"Hi Harry!"

"Hi."

Harry stood for a moment, staring at his father. An awkward moment passed with Harry unsure what to say. Likewise, his father remained silent, though he showed none of the hesitation that Harry felt.

"Right, well I'll go find Neville then," he said finally. "I guess I'll see you at Christmas?"

His father nodded and Harry hoisted his trunk and turned to leave. He'd barely taken a step when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to face his father, who looked as though he'd swallowed something unpleasant.

"Harry-" he began, but Harry interjected quickly, a wheedling urgency in his voice.

"Don't, please. You'll only say something we'll both regret."

"No," snapped his father and then his expression wavered and softened. He put both his hands on Harry's shoulders and looked him in the eye. Harry realised for the first time that they were roughly the same size now. "Listen to me, Harry. No stupid mistakes this year. Toe the line; don't give the Ministry an excuse to come gunning for you."

Harry nodded and though a tumult of suppressed emotions bubbled to the surface he resisted the urge to snap. He wasn't a child any more.

"And most importantly," continued James. "Remember that I'm proud of you."

Harry blinked. His anger was quickly superseded by surprise. He opened his mouth to speak but something caught in his throat.

"I'm serious," said James, his face sincere. "You've become an amazing young man, I couldn't be prouder. Your mother-"

"Thanks Dad," said Harry quickly, the mention of his mother was almost unbearable these days.

His father stared in him in the eyes a moment longer and then nodded and looked away. Harry wished he hadn't seen the hurt mirrored in his father's eyes. He reached out and caught him by the lower arm. Their eyes met again and a moment of understanding passed between them.

It was James who broke the connection.

"Go find Neville," he said gently.

"Be careful?"

"I will."

Harry hefted his trunk through the door and into the train. It was light, but awkward to manoeuvre.

By the time he turned back to say goodbye, his father was gone.

Harry paused for a moment, then snapped his mouth and turned back to the train. He deftly swung himself inside only to come face to face with Lee Jordan. The older boy and long time confidante of Harry's gave him a slight grin and then lifted his trunk effortlessly.

"Can't have a Tri-Wizard Champion carrying his own bags now, can we?" he joked. "Come on, we've got a compartment further up."

Harry didn't have to ask to know who 'we' were. Lee set off down the train, Harry following him, more eager than he'd expected to see the twins again. It felt like ages since they'd been helping him prepare for the third task.

"How've you been, Lee? How was your summer?"

"It was alright, nothing special, but you missed some amazing quidditch games though. The Bigonville Bombers dominated the European Interleague Cup. Though-" he turned back to wink at Harry. "-from what I hear, you've had a pretty exciting summer yourself."

Harry groaned as they continued down the train. Somewhere further down he heard the steam engine fire up. They'd be leaving in a moment.

"Can't anything stay a secret for more than five minutes?" he asked, though his tone was already resigned.

"Not at Hogwarts, mate."

"We've not even left London yet!"

"All the more reason for gossip, I suppose."

Lee eventually reached the compartment the twins were in and kicked the door open casually. He thrust Harry's trunk into a waiting pair of hands and smiled broadly around.

"Look who I found hanging around!" he exclaimed and beckoned Harry inside.

Inside he was met by the grinning faces of not just the twins but also the smiling ones of both Angelina, who he knew from quidditch, but also Neville. The smile he'd been wearing on his face broadened and the tension that had been building up in him for weeks drifted away. Neville looked well.

"Hey guys," he said softly and sat down into the space the twins made between them. "How was everyone's summer?"

"Mine was pretty good-" began Angelina.

"We can talk about that later!" interjected George excitedly. Angelina huffed discontentedly at the interruption. "You've got to tell us about your adventures with Dumbledore this summer."

Harry looked around at the expectant faces and sighed wearily. Though he'd expected this, he'd not counted on it so soon. He wasn't sure of Dumbledore's position on the matter and so it would probably best to assume a position of silence.

"Look guys, I don't think what Dumbledore and I did should become stuff of Hogwart's gossip."

The faces around him fell slightly, even Neville's who had a rough estimation of what had occurred.

"Well in that case, we'll have to go with Neville's version of events," said Fred nonchalantly. "In which you bested four dragons, a heliopath, You-Know-Who and an entire herd of centaurs single-handedly."

Harry glared at Neville who gave an apologetic shrug, the intention of which only slightly ruined by his broad grin. After a moment, he sighed and leant back into his seat. If there was one thing that he couldn't stand, it was exaggerations of his own feats. This would be his once chance to give his version of events before it got blew out of all proportion.

"Right, I'll tell you lot, but only to set the record straight."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Fred and George together, making Harry wince. He hated it when they did that.

"Alright so, despite what you may have heard," began Harry, leaning in conspiratorially. "Only the bit about the heliopath is true."

Five stunned faces stared back at him and Harry allowed his face to break into a smile.

In the end it took almost two and a half hours for Harry to describe the events of his summer and by the end of the story, the compartment had filled beyond brimming point and was overflowing into the corridor.

He'd just reached the point at which Conlaodh had pulled them both from the Plain of Delight when a voice called into the compartment from the corridor.

"What utter drivel," scoffed a voice that Harry recognised as Michael Corner. A moment later he pushed his way into the compartment. "You-Know-Who's back? You travelled to the realm of old magic? And where's the proof? Do you think we're idiots?"

A moment later, at least a dozen people rose to their feet and scrambled for their wands. Harry smiled, grateful for his friends' indignation, but nonetheless, raised his arms to stop them.

"Relax guys," he said gently. "If Michael doesn't believe me, that's his choice. It's not worth fighting over."

There was a moment of unrest, before they resumed sitting and replaced their wands. Michael Corner, however, stood in the doorway still looking definitely at Harry.

"So?" he asked a moment later. "Where's the proof?"

Harry contemplated him for a moment, and then smiled.

"Well, beside the fact that Neville is sitting right there, perfectly unharmed after you all saw him cursed at the end of last year." He paused for a moment and unconsciously his left hand rose to touch the chain around his neck. "I don't suppose there is any."

"And the heliopath?" demanded Corner.

It was Neville's turn to speak up.

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Because Dumbledore is really going to let him bring a heliopath to school."

Everyone in the compartment bar Harry and Michael laughed. While Corner looked angry, Harry was trying his best not to look guilty and dropped his hand from the chain around his neck.

"Right," said Corner haughtily. "So no proof at all."

And with that he left.

"What a prick," remarked George a moment later and from the nodding faces around the compartment, Harry could see that they all shared the sentiment. A sudden flush of gratitude overtook him. He'd been worried more people would take the side of the Ministry.

"He's entitled to his opinion I suppose. Now, I'm going to go and find a bathroom and get changed into my robes, unless you feel I need an audience for that as well."

"I dunno Harry," piped Angelina with an exaggerated saucy wink. "I wouldn't mind."

"Ha-ha," said Harry sarcastically and pulled his robes from his trunk on the luggage rack. He managed to squeeze between the cluster of people in the doorway and ease his way out into the corridor.

Angelina's voice followed him out.

"Not to mention Romilda!" she shouted as Harry came face to face with Romilda Vane herself. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind _coming_ with you."

Harry stared at Romilda for a moment, mortified, but was extraordinarily surprised when she merely smiled coyly at him and moved aside for him to pass. He couldn't help but notice she'd not given him much room.

Still feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry slunk off down the corridor. He'd only made it twenty or so feet to the next carriage when he spotted the very recognisable blonde head of Draco Malfoy. For a moment, Harry paused, frozen to the spot.

Though Harry wasn't even slightly scared of Malfoy the two had shared a long established truce that Harry wasn't keen to break. Both held a lot of sway with those of their own house and hostility between them wouldn't be conducive to anything. That said, Malfoy held little regard to the consequences and now was certainly no time for a confrontation.

A sudden decisiveness overtook him and he ducked inside the nearest compartment without thinking. As a result he found himself suddenly nose to nose with a blonde girl he vaguely recognised by sight but who he couldn't for the life of him remember by name. She examined him with some interest, but said nothing.

"Err, hi," he said awkwardly. "Sorry about this."

"That's alright," she said dreamily. "You're Harry Potter."

"Uh. Yes, I am."

Harry chanced a glance through to open door and into the corridor. Malfoy still hadn't moved but instead had been joined by his two burly friends. Even worse. He looked back to the girl and immediately noticed three things about her. She had her wand balanced precariously behind her ear, she was wearing a necklace of what appeared to be butter beer corks and she wasn't wearing a shirt.

Harry jerked his eyes upward from her admittedly ample chest and focused his eyes instead on her own dreamy eyes. A slight flush rose to his cheeks and it took all his willpower to keep his eyes level with hers.

"Uh, I'm terribly sorry, uh, miss" he stammered, backing towards the door. "I didn't mean to barge in, it's just- I'll leave now."

He turned abruptly to leave.

"Luna," she said simply. He paused.

"What?" he asked without turning around.

"It's my name. Luna Lovegood."

"Love-good?"

Harry considered this momentarily. He was beginning to suspect that someone was conspiring against him. While he might be good with magic, he was definitely not good with girls. After a moment of indecisiveness, he tossed himself back through the door of the compartment, slamming it heavily behind him.

"What on earth," he breathed, leaning with his back against the door. He'd never experienced anything even slightly as surreal in his life.

Luckily, Draco appeared to have moved on and Harry hurried on down the carriage toward the bathrooms, still in a state of slight bewilderment.

He changed into his robes in record time and hurried back along the train to his original compartment. Most of the crowd seemed to have dispersed, but there seemed to have been a couple of permanent additions to their number.

Ginny Weasley was now sitting on Neville's knee, Ron Weasley was sat opposite them and Luna, now also wearing robes, waved happily at him from the corner. Harry's smile suddenly became forced.

"Hi Harry," said Ginny, averting Harry's attention from Luna. "This is Luna Lovegood."

Clearly she'd noticed his staring. Harry swallowed and opened his mouth to speak. Unfortunately Luna beat him to it.

"Oh we met already," she said, turning her gaze out of the window.

Relief flooded through him. Perhaps he'd live it down after all.

"I was in my bra," added Luna casually.

Every pair of eyes but hers turned to Harry, who in turn, wished the floor would swallow him. Luna however came to his rescue.

"I think he was avoiding the nargles, so I didn't mind much."

After some good natured jibes from the twins, Harry sat next to Luna and Angelina gave him a curious look.

"So who were you avoiding?"

Luna gave her a sad, pitying look and went back to gazing out of the window.

"Draco Malfoy."

The twins laughed.

"That little ferret?"

"What were you avoiding him for?"

"Surely you could wipe the floor with that idiot?"

Harry shrugged.

"Best way to win a fight is to avoid one."

The rest of the carriage looked at him like he'd grown an extra head but seemed to let it pass. Their conversation fell to more normal things; quidditch, classes, the twin's new line of 'Wheezes'. Before he knew it, Harry glanced out of the window and realised they were quickly approaching Hogwarts.

"Almost there," said Ginny, echoing Harry's thoughts.

A small smile graced Harry's lips as he thought of Hogwarts. He couldn't wait to be back at the castle. At home.

Though he'd lived at Godric's Hollow for the last two summers and one Christmas, he couldn't help but feel Hogwarts was really where his home was. Partly because Hogwarts had been his escape from the Dursleys, but mostly because he couldn't bring himself to forgive his father for his twelve years of absence, for his twelve years chasing Voldemort across the globe, his twelve years of grief.

Perhaps he never would.

As the train eased onto the station platform, Harry allowed his friends to leave the carriage first, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the marauder's map. He was just about to activate it when he realised Luna was still sat next to him. She'd fallen silent during the last leg of the journey, reading a copy of the quibbler and Harry had all but forgotten her existence.

"Luna," he said gently and it was several seconds before she looked up at him. "We're at Hogwarts."

"Oh I know," she said dreamily. "I wanted to ask you something."

Harry's brain stopped working for a moment. Why did this girl make him feel so awkward?

"W-What?" he stammered finally.

"I was just wondering where you got your heliopath from?" she asked casually, looking at the delicate chain around Harry's neck.

Harry gaped at her and his hand flew up to touch the chain defensively.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," she said happily. "I was just wondering if it was one you'd stolen from Minister Fudge."

Harry didn't really know what to say to this, was she making fun of him? What was he supposed to say?

"It's alright if you don't want to tell me," said Luna, somewhat sadly. "But I'd quite like to spend some time with you later this year, if that's alright. Heliopath fire tends to attract Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

She rose and headed toward the door but at the last moment, stopped and turned to look at him.

"And I really don't mind that you saw my bra," she said. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather see it."

With that, she disappeared into the corridor and was gone. Harry gaped after her for a moment and then shook his head in disbelief.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he said finally and tapped the parchment in his hands.

The map of Hogwarts spread across the parchment in the same way that it had so many times before. Harry could see the first of the students arriving, grouped in carriages and the first years making their way across the lake, he also spotted Snape and McGonagall waiting in the entrance hall. A great deal of the staff were waiting in the great hall at the staff table, including Umbridge. Harry barely managed to contain a shudder of disgust at the sight of her name. But the man that Harry wanted to find didn't appear at all.

"Show me Albus Dumbledore," he said, tapping the parchment.

Nothing happened.

"Where are you Dumbledore? What are you doing?" asked Harry in frustration.

"I'm standing right here, wondering why my protégée hasn't disembarked the train," came the voice of Albus Dumbledore from the doorway.

Harry jumped in surprise and hastily looked up. Dumbledore smiled down at him. Harry couldn't help but grin back.

"Come Harry," beckoned the Headmaster and together they left the train, Harry tossing his trunk onto the platform first. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to walk up to the castle with me? I can't say I particularly care for the carriages."

Harry understood that Dumbledore wanted a chance to talk before the start of the feast and so readily accepted. He waved to his friends as they passed in a carriage.

"I'll catch up to you," he called.

He leant down to pick up his trunk but Dumbledore merely waved his wand and it shot off toward the castle. Harry laughed as it narrowly avoided the heads of the other students.

"I am pleased that you took my advice to heart," said Dumbledore, a soft smile on his lips.

Harry nodded awkwardly, suddenly glad for his occlumency. Though he had not actively defied Dumbledore, he didn't want the man to know that he'd tried everything in his power to find a loop hole within his words either. If Dumbledore had any suspicions of Harry's guilty feelings, he made no mention of it.

Finally, the pair set off along the road that would lead them to Hogwarts. Dumbledore's pace was unhurried, so Harry matched it easily.

"I have no doubt you spotted Madame Umbridge on that astonishing map of yours," said Dumbledore as the remaining carriages swept past them on their way up to the castle.

Harry nodded but said nothing. Harry had no fondness for the foul toad-faced woman but knew voicing his opinions would only antagonize Dumbledore.

"Her presence here makes it even more imperative that you toe the Ministry's line."

"I know," said Harry. Dumbledore beamed at him and then continued.

"I also have a task for you, if you'd be so kind."

"Anything, you know that," said Harry curtly.

"I'd like you to teach Neville occlumency."

Harry contemplated Dumbledore for a moment, his brow creased into a frown.

"You think he is somehow channelling Voldemort?"

"Very insightful. Yes, I fear that the pain he has been feeling this summer is a result of the connection between them. If this is the case, those around him are in danger."

Harry nodded in understanding and they continued their walk, up through the gates of Hogwarts and, at Dumbledore's behest, a little away from the path, up through the tree-lined path that lead to the Owlery.

"I don't know if I'll be able to, but I'll certainly try," admitted Harry.

"That's all I can ask," replied Dumbledore happily. "The last thing I mean to tell you must remain between us at all costs."

Harry blushed slightly, how could Dumbledore already know about his story on the train? Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and drew him closer, as though the trees might be listening in.

"I have heard whispers of late," began Dumbledore and paused, uncharacteristically hesitant to continue. "My sources tell me that Voldemort has become interested in Old Magic, the Old World. Particularly in the Giant's Causeway-"

"He believes the old myths?" interjected Harry in surprise.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore with a frown. "As do I."

If Harry hadn't, just a few months ago, been unceremoniously dumped into the world of myths and fairy-tales, he would have openly scoffed. Even now he had difficulty believing it, despite everything he'd seen, despite that it was Dumbledore telling him. Dumbledore must have spotted his reservations, however, for he smiled kindly down at him.

"Most myths borrow heavily from the truth, Harry. I assure you that there are traces of Old Magic there."

"You've investigated it yourself, then?"

"A little," admitted Dumbledore. "Voldemort was waiting for me."

Harry gave a little start of surprise and ran his eyes over the headmaster in concern.

"You duelled?"

Dumbledore shook his head and a troubled expression crossed his face momentarily.

"Tom has changed drastically since the events of the summer," he said thoughtfully. "Something he saw at the Giant's Causeway, or more particularly the Grand Causeway, has changed his perspective."

Harry frowned as Dumbledore became lost in thought. For a moment they walked in silence, nothing but the tweeting of the birds and the rustling of leaves to disturb their walk. Harry thought he saw a fleeting expression of fear on his mentor's face, but a moment later it was replaced by a benign smile.

"I digress," said Dumbledore after a moment. "Harry, there is another task I must burden you with and this is of the utmost importance."

"Anything," repeated Harry and Dumbledore smiled.

"At some point this year, the Ministry will seek to remove me from Hogwarts. When they do so, you must promise me that you will protect the students the best you can."

Harry stared at him in astonishment.

"They can't-" he began.

"They can," interjected Dumbledore swiftly. "And they will."

A moment of silence absorbed the conversation as Harry tried to digest what Dumbledore had told him.

"Anyway," continued Dumbledore, more cheerily. "We ought to be in the Great Hall, we are delaying the sorting. Minerva will be beside herself."


	3. Heroes of Nothing

**CONLAODH'S SONG  
Chapter Three: Heroes of Nothing**

The rain crashed through the leaves, scattering as they fell into a fine mist. Larger drops dripped from where they had collected on leaf or branch. A pale sunlight cut through the canopy overhead, bathing everything in an ethereal green glow.

Harry and Luna huddled close under his impervious charm as the rain fell around them. Their eyes tracked a little dragon, formed entirely of flames, as it fluttered to and fro before them. This was the third evening he'd spent with Luna since his return to Hogwarts and while she observed Conlaodh, he observed her.

"He's so pretty," breathed Luna.

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"You don't have to whisper," he said. "He won't be scared."

"Was I whispering?" asked Luna absently, her rapt attention still entirely focused on the tiny creature.

Harry held out his hand and Conlaodh fluttered forward to land in his palm. The heliopath was cool to the touch and had the slightest weight, the flames tickled as they danced on Harry's skin. For a while he stood proudly, back arched, but when Luna tentatively began to stroke him, he crooned into her touch.

"Harry, we're alone and I'm stroking your dragon," said Luna suddenly.

Harry flushed a dark red but Luna didn't even seem to notice. He decided to focus intently on Conlaodh instead. Before their eyes, the heliopath transformed into a miniature wolf and then into a lion.

"Show off," muttered Harry, rolling his eyes.

Luna playfully hit him.

"Don't be cruel," she hissed, but Harry saw only humour in her eyes.

"He is!" he insisted, chuckling. "You should see him when we're alone."

"I'm not sure I want to."

Harry flushed again, Luna was getting good at flustering him and for a moment he wasn't sure it was intentional, but then he caught a rare gleam in her eye. He shoved her out of the impervious charm in retribution and she giggled as rain poured down on her head.

She rejoined him a moment later as Conlaodh flew from his hand again and disappeared into the trees. Smiling, she stood and looked down at him, sprinkling droplets of water onto his head as she did. He laughed and dried them both with a flick of his wand.

Somewhere deeper in the forest, the faint echoes of a Jarvey reached their eyes as it ran between the trees, swearing loudly as it did so. Luna smiled slightly as it called out a particularly offensive insult and then the forest fell silent once more.

"Did you know that Jarveys don't really exist?" asked Luna suddenly.

"Oh?" replied Harry, a smile on his lips. "So that was just a really angry vole then?"

"No, nothing silly like that," said Luna wearily. "Jarveys are just petty criminals the Ministry can't afford to keep in Azkaban. So they transfigure them into ferrets, only the wizard who's in charge of it is really incompetent."

"And how do you know that it wasn't just an annoyed vole?" asked Harry, trying his hardest not to giggle.

"Because if it was a vole, he'd have been a lot more vulgar," she replied as though it was obvious.

Perhaps it was, thought Harry and glanced at the girl beside him. Momentarily his hazel eyes met her silvery ones and Harry felt as though something passed between them, then she looked back into the forest and the moment was gone.

"Dinner last night was interesting," she remarked casually.

"Y'mean Umbridge's Educational Decree?" asked Harry, leaning back against the tree and staring up into the luminous canopy.

"No, she was clearly placed here as part of the wider Rotfang conspiracy," said Luna, as though she was stating the obvious. "I meant Ronald."

Harry looked at her for a moment, a curious expression on his face.

"What do you mean?" he asked eventually.

"He's lonely," she said. "Even the wrackspurts don't want anything to do with him."

"Lonely?" asked Harry frowning; he wasn't even going to begin with the wrackspurts.

"He looks how I used to feel. Sad and lonely, he feels left out."

Harry's frown didn't abate; instead he stared at the ground before him for a moment thinking.

It was true that Ron, as a result of his coma, was now three years behind. He'd awoken as though nothing had happened, a twelve year old stuck in a fifteen year old's body. While he'd been asleep he'd lost a best friend without even realising it, nearly lost a sister. It was tragic.

To top it off, Harry and Neville were now in their fifth year, whereas Ron was in second; lower than even his younger sister. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine how isolated and frustrated the boy must be.

"He needs a friend," said Luna softly.

"He's got friends," replied Harry, his temper flaring slightly.

Luna didn't react in the slightest to the heat in Harry's voice. She knew as well as he did that it was merely the realisation that not one of them had truly been there for Ron that had annoyed him.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"That's okay," she said and leant her head on his shoulder, still staring off into the forest. He leant his own head on hers and smiled to himself.

Darkness crept up on them quickly and before Harry knew it they were sitting in almost perfect darkness, only the last feeble rays from the dying sun reaching them between the trees.

"We'd best go," said Harry reluctantly and Luna moved to rise.

Though he knew from previous experience how dangerous these woods became after dark, he couldn't help but wish for a few more minutes alone in the forest with Luna. These days it sometimes seemed his entire life was about Voldemort and the last few hours had taken him back to happier times.

Ferociously he tore his mind away from that train of thought. It had only just been two years since-

Furious with himself, Harry marched up to the castle in a stony silence. Luna either sensed his anguish or was preoccupied with her own thoughts, for she said nothing on the walk either.

When they reached the second floor landing where they'd part company, she took his hand in hers and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Today was nice, Harry," she said softly. "It was like having a friend."

"I am your friend," said Harry and she beamed at him.

"That's nice," she said and disappeared through the door that would take her to the Ravenclaw tower.

Harry stared after her for a moment and then turned on his heel and began climbing the stairs up toward Gryffindor tower.

A few minutes later he found himself climbing through the portrait hole and into the familiar, warm surroundings of the Gryffindor common room.

The twins and Jordan waved to him from their customary sofas by the window.

"Hey Harry," they called.

"Hey," he replied half-heartedly and looked around.

Spotting Ron sitting in a high-backed armchair beside the fire, Harry strolled over and sat opposite him. For a while they sat in silence and Harry considered the boy's face as he scowled into the fire.

The light from the flames formed a dancing pattern on his pale skin and for the first time Harry noticed how hollow the boy's cheeks were. As he watched, he noticed the dark rings around his eyes and the defeat in his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" asked Harry finally.

"Awful," replied Ron without even looking up. "How about you?"

"Can't complain, I suppose."

Harry sat back in his chair and continued to observe the boy; Ron in turn resumed his scowling into the fire.

"It's horrible," said Ron suddenly.

"I can't imagine."

The redhead looked up at him darkly.

"Be glad, it's got to be about the worst feeling in the world. Everything I knew, everything I had is gone."

"Not everything," said Harry quietly.

Ron scoffed.

"Shows what you know," he snapped. "I had two friends. Now one of them is some sort of champion and the other is dead. I had a little sister and now she's older than me. I had classmates and they've left me behind too. My family don't know what to say to me and Neville is too busy doing whatever it is that he's doing to spend any time with me."

Ron looked back into the fire and Harry saw the unshed tears in his eyes as they reflected the firelight.

"Even you've changed," replied Ron bitterly. "Even you're a hero now."

"You are too," said Harry and Ron glared up at him. "It's true. If you hadn't won that game of chess for Neville, Voldemort would have returned three years earlier."

"Yeah, well," said Ron. "You know what the first thing I asked when I woke up? 'Did Neville get the stone?'."

He laughed hollowly.

"They thought I'd gone barking. Nobody even knows what we did down there. A hero of nothing."

"And that's what you want?" asked Harry. "For people to know what you gave? Fame? Prestige?"

Ron stared moodily into the fire and quite some time passed before he spoke again.

"I want people to stop looking at me as though I'm fragile, as though I'm useless."

Harry looked at him strangely; there were no more tears in his eyes, just a strange anger that Harry couldn't place. At first, Harry didn't know what to say, and then something occurred to him.

"Ron," he said to attract the boy's attention. "Hold out your hand."

The boy stared at him warily, and then reluctantly held out his hand. Harry produced his wand and lifted it to point at the palm of the Ron's hand. A second later a thin silvery substance flowed from the end of Harry's wand and became a puddle in the boy's hand.

A flick of his wand later and Harry forced the liquid to take shape. A small silver horse assembled itself, still slightly submerged in the puddle and began to gallop in place. Another flick of his wand and the horse vanished only to be replaced by a flower that grew from the pool and then wilted away. Another flick and the silver liquid became a pyramid that stood for a second before being swept away by an invisible wind.

Ron watched open mouthed as the tiny scene played out before him. Harry dispelled the silvery fluid which vanished without a trace. Ron looked up at him, utterly astonished.

"You know how I did that?" asked Harry.

Ron shook his head, still apparently speechless.

"Years of practice," admitted Harry and Ron frowned. "I cultivate the appearance that it all comes incredibly naturally to me. That I do everything I do with ease. In actuality, despite the fact that I have an abundance of natural talent, I work incredibly hard.

"It doesn't take extraordinary talent to make a great wizard, Ron. Just an extraordinary person."

Ron looked Harry in the eyes for a long time, apparently processing what Harry had just told him. Then finally he nodded and Harry was sure he could see determination settle in the boy's eyes.

"You're right," he said.

And though his brow was still ridged in concentration, his complexion appeared significantly less strained. It might have been wishful thinking, but Harry could swear he saw the ghost of a smile on Ron's face before he rose.

"Thank you, Harry," he said and gave Harry an enigmatic smile before disappearing up the stairs toward the dormitories.

Harry watched him go sadly, then catching a glimpse of the darkness through the windows, hurriedly checked his watch. He leapt to his feet in surprise; if he wasn't quick, he'd be late to start his prefect duties.

As he crossed the room, he donned his prefect's badge and hastily straightened his tie. Upon reaching the portrait hole, he ran straight into Romilda Vane and a gaggle of her friends.

"Hiya Harry," she said, giggling.

"Hi Romilda," he replied, distracted. "I'd love to stop and chat but I've got to start my patrol in five minutes."

"That's alright, Harry. I just wanted to give you this."

She reached forward and tucked a piece of parchment into his top pocket.

"What's that?" he asked in confusion and she giggled again.

"Directions and a time," she said, winking.

Then she and her friends swept past him, whispering and giggling furiously. Harry stared after them and shook his head in exasperation. Then remembering he was late, left the room at top speed.

He burst into McGonagall's office with a minute to spare and she looked at him sternly. He made an apologetic face and her expression seemed to soften slightly.

"You've got the fifth and sixth floors tonight, Mr. Potter," she said. "And it would be nice if you'd stick to them for once."

"Of course, Professor," replied Harry, smiling broadly. "I won't let you down."

Harry had spent the last two nights on duty using the Marauder's Map to locate potential trouble makers and give them directions for avoiding Filch. However, he had the suspicion that McGonagall had cottoned on to his plan after she'd caught him talking to a suit of armour several floors out of his jurisdiction.

He was just about to leave when his Head of House stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You've got your first lesson with Umbridge tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes professor. We missed our first one yesterday when the Educational Decree was passed."

McGonagall frowned at the mention of the decree, but nodded regardless.

"Make sure Longbottom keeps a handle on his temper. The last thing he ought to do in his situation is provoke Professor Umbridge."

"I will, professor," Harry assured her and she smiled at him, a rare occurrence, then turned away.

Harry assumed that this was his dismissal and left the office, almost stepping on Mrs. Norris as he did so. He looked down at her for a moment, then sighed and clicked under his breath. The cat had followed him on every patrol he'd been on so far, getting under his feet and running off to Filch the moment he made a transgression.

He wasn't sure if Filch put her up to it, or if she could merely smell guilt on him. Either way, she was a completely nuisance.

"Come on then, Norris," he said, his tone resigned.

He started off down the corridor and Filch's cat followed him, padding along silently behind him. Harry walked until he reached the corner at the end of the corridor. Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a length of string and while holding one end allowed the other to fall so that it dragged along the floor as he walked.

Mrs. Norris merely examined Harry with a haughty look, but when the end dragging along the floor began to twitch at a flick of his wand, the cat went berserk. All pretences of grace abandoned, she threw herself at the string, batting it with her paws and biting ferociously at it. Down two corridors and a flight of stairs, Harry walked and watched in complete bemusement.

Then, as he approached another flight of stairs, he enchanted the string to float downstairs, still flicking its tail. Mrs. Norris followed it to the first stair and then looked back as Harry began to climb upwards. He could almost see the anguish on her face and though she hesitated, he knew her base instincts would get the better of her.

Surely enough, after a few seconds of agonising, she went at breakneck speed after the piece of string. Harry could only chuckle ruefully as he heard the cat and string doing epic battle all the way down the stairs.

Harry was just about to retrieve the Marauder's Map from inside his cloak when he heard the rustle of fabric approaching. Hurriedly he adopted an air of nonchalance and was instantly glad he did, because a moment later Snape appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Potter," he drawled when he spotted Harry. "Ten minutes have passed since curfew."

"I know sir," said Harry quickly and pointed to his badge. "I'm a prefect."

"That badge does not give you free reign to go prowling the halls after dark."

"I'm on patrol," replied Harry with a shrug.

"For a third night in a row?" he asked with a disbelieving tone.

"I guess I enjoy it."

"Apparently," said Snape, a calculating expression on his face. "Yet you've also completely failed to catch any students out of bounds. One might begin to suspect you're up to something far more nefarious."

"Perhaps my fellow students are merely more trustworthy than you insinuate Professor," replied Harry. "Besides, it's early days yet."

"Quite." Snape looked less than impressed with Harry's explanation. "You'd best get up to the sixth floor then, Potter."

Harry nodded and started up the corridor, he'd barely gotten five paces when Snape called after him.

"And fifteen points from Gryffindor, Potter, for cheek."

Harry waited until he was well out of earshot before he started to laugh. Once he'd accepted the fact that Snape loathed him for something he couldn't possibly change, he'd been much easier to deal with. The patheticness of it all partially amused Harry and partially saddened him.

Harry could even sympathise with Snape to a certain extent; Snape hated James Potter and in some ways, so did Harry.

Of course, what Harry hadn't realised in third year, when he'd decided to stop hating Snape, was that it would completely change their relationship. No longer did Snape actively loath him; though they would never be friends they weren't exactly enemies either. Now their confrontations had become little less about mutual hatred and more about playing their ongoing game.

Harry waited until he was certain Snape had moved on before he pulled out the Marauder's Map.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered and touched his wand to the surface.

Instantly a thousand spidery black lines spread out over the page, neatly criss-crossing the parchment to form the most complete map of Hogwarts castle and grounds that had ever been attempted. Harry scanned the map with his eyes, quickly spotting Snape who was thankfully several floors below him.

Apart from other dots that moved between the corridors and floors that Harry knew had legitimate reason, he spotted three that almost certainly shouldn't be roaming this late.

Two, the Creevey brothers, were in a small second floor classroom. The other, Draco Malfoy was rapidly heading to the seventh floor.

Harry knew for a fact that Draco wasn't on duty tonight. He also still hadn't seen the boy since their return to Hogwarts and somehow Malfoy was conspicuous by his absence. Were something not afoot, he would have gone out of his way to taunt Neville by this stage and if Harry was honest with himself, whatever Malfoy was planning wouldn't be good news.

As he watched though, Malfoy reached the seventh floor and appeared to get lost, backtracking several times before walking up to a wall and vanishing. Harry blinked several times and checked again but Malfoy had completely vanished from the map.

This could mean one of three things; either the map had malfunctioned, which was unlikely, that Malfoy had entered a room or passage not on the map, also unlikely, or that Malfoy had entered a room that was under the Fidelius Charm, which was even less likely.

Temporarily flummoxed, Harry stared at the map a moment longer, willing Draco Malfoy's dot to reappear, but nothing happened. For a moment, he considered going to investigate, but then a more pressing matter of attention caught his eye; the Creevey brothers were quickly being cornered by Filch on the third floor.

"Mischief managed," said Harry, tapping his wand against the parchment and shoving it back inside his robes.

He took off at a trot, pausing only to throw a window wide open and whistle into the darkness. A burning serpent whipped through the window and attached itself as a ring around Harry's arm and took the appearance of an elastic band.

Conlaodh would be useful in this situation. He couldn't walk around holding the map without raising suspicion, but Conlaodh would be able to sense the brothers and those around him, warning him to any potential danger.

As he passed through the halls of Hogwarts, his way illuminated by the flicking candles that lined the walls, he caught the occasional glimpses of staff and prefects performing their usual duties.

He reached the third floor in record time and looked around at the deserted hallway. With no idea of where to begin, it was looking as though he'd have to begin searching room to room, a process that could take him most of the evening.

As he pushed open the door to the first deserted classroom and poked his head inside, he felt a familiar presence touch against his mind. A small smile graced his lips and his fingers touched the band around his wrist, which once became a serpent of cold fire as he touched it.

"Hello Conlaodh," he said softly.

A small feeling of warmth swelled in his mind, along with the image of the broom cupboard across the corridor.

"Thank you, Conlaodh," he said and the fire spirit went back to its slumber.

He closed the door of the classroom behind him and flung the cupboard open, peering into it severely. Then his expression faded into one of astonishment. It was empty. Harry frowned slightly, Conlaodh had never been wrong before, how peculiar.

He was just about to close the door again, when a thought occurred to him. He reached out and with a sudden lunge, ripped an invisibility cloak from over the Creevey brothers. They peered up at him in the darkness, both their faces astonished. Clutched in their hands was a box of the twin's fireworks.

Harry couldn't help but smile as they stared up at him.

"Listen guys, I'm not going to dock points, but you ought to get back to the tower, Filch is out on the prowl tonight and Snape's in a particularly vindictive mood. If you take the passage behind the tapestry down the corridor, you ought to be able to avoid them both."

They nodded and emerged, looking slightly shame-faced. Harry looked down at the invisibility cloak in his hands and then neatly folded it and was just about to hand it back to them when something occurred to him; the Creevey twins were muggle-born.

"Invisibility cloaks are really rare," he said, frowning. "Where did you get this one?"

The brothers looked at each other nervously.

"Well, we sort of borrowed it," said Dennis.

"Without really asking," elaborated his brother.

Harry frowned; theft in Hogwarts was worrying, but not as worrying as someone with an invisibility cloak.

"We didn't steal it, really," said Dennis hurriedly. "We were in the dungeons a couple of nights ago when we heard footsteps. We hid behind that huge statue of the Kelpie and the footsteps passed us by, but we couldn't see anyone.

"A moment later, Malfoy appeared from nowhere and hid the cloak behind a tapestry. We waited until he'd gone and then took it."

They fell quiet and looked sheepishly at Harry. He smiled down at them, despite the inkling in the back of his mind that something was horribly wrong.

"Alright guys, you actually did the right thing. I mean, you should have brought it to a prefect when you found it, but I'm not going to punish you." Their faces suddenly broke into expressions of relief. "Listen, do you two mind if I hold on to this for a while?"

They shook their heads furiously and with little encouragement from Harry, they fled back to Gryffindor tower.

Still more than a little perturbed about the possibility of people invisibly roaming Hogwarts, Harry folded the cloak once more and shoved it into his robes.

Finally and more cautiously this time, pausing to cast a silencing charm on his shoes, Harry left the third floor and began to head back up stairs. For a moment he was tempted to go and investigate Malfoy's disappearance, but quickly reasoned that poking around on the seventh floor corridor would only tip the Slytherin off. Better to wait until he was certain the boy was elsewhere.

Instead, Harry decided to do what he should have been doing all night; aimlessly patrolling for errant students.


	4. Defence Against the Dark Arts

**CONLAODH'S SONG  
Chapter Four: Defence Against the Dark Arts**

It wasn't until the following morning that Harry noticed that there was anything amiss amongst his roommates. To be perfectly honest, he'd barely given them much time at all since he'd been back at Hogwarts. Between his prefect duties, Luna, Dumbledore and classes, he'd not really had much time for socialising.

Indeed he was perfectly oblivious when he awoke, until Seamus left the common room at top speed, still pulling his socks on while Neville stared bitterly after him.

"You two had a fight?" asked Harry sleepily, from the end of his bed.

"He thinks I'm a nutter," replied Neville, a scowl etched onto his face.

"You are a bit mad sometimes." Harry climbed out of bed and fished around on his nightstand for his watch.

"No, I mean he thinks I'm properly mental."

Harry caught a glimpse of Neville's face. There wasn't even the slightest trace of humour there, just a mixture of anger and betrayal. Harry sighed and shrugged.

"Pity," he said after a moment and fastened the buckle of his watch.

"Is that all you've got to say?" snapped Neville.

Harry ignored him momentarily and instead seized his bag of toiletries from his trunk. It benefited to be cautious with these things, especially with the number of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes floating around these days. Rumour said that MacMillan had his head turned into an orange for six hours; Harry had enough problems as it was.

"Pretty much," said Harry as he finally got out of bed and headed in the direction of the bathroom, picking up his towel from the chair by his bed. He lingered for a moment at the door to the bathroom and smiled kindly in Neville's direction. "You won't convince everyone."

When Harry returned, Neville still hadn't moved, and Harry contemplated his friend. He couldn't stand to see him looking so dejected and beaten. He felt a momentary rush of hatred for Voldemort and the discord he spread by merely existing.

"Listen Neville," he began kindly. "Seamus has been told a whole lot of different things by different trustworthy sources. It stands to reason that some people are just going to want to believe what's easiest."

"I suppose you're right," said Neville.

"Suppose? Of course I am. Now clear off," said Harry, chuckling. "I'll meet you at breakfast."

When Harry arrived at breakfast ten minutes later, Neville and Seamus were glaring daggers at each other across the table while Ron and Dean looked on with hopeless expressions. Clearly even they didn't know what to say.

Harry, with a sudden decisiveness, slammed his bag down on the table, making everyone around him jump and sending Seamus to his feet, half falling over his chair as he scrambled away from the table. It wasn't exactly what he'd intended, but at least it broke the staring contest between his two roommates. For his part, Harry acted as though nothing had happened, sitting down between Dean and Parvati with his manner a mask of nonchalance.

"Pass us the eggs, would you Parvati?" he asked.

She complied with a smile, but as she did, Harry couldn't help but notice the glare that Lavender gave him. Ah, apparently she was on Seamus' side in all of this. It was strange, he reflected, for after second year he'd nearly had to resort to fire to spurn her advances. Fear did strange things to people. He winked at her, making her blush, and then turned back to Seamus.

"Don't suppose you know what lessons we've got today? I've not got a timetable yet."

Seamus sat back at the table and stared at him darkly, not even parting his lips to speak. Harry felt a little stab of frustration, but ignored him and turned to Dean, repeating the same question; the fifth year glanced down at his timetable.

"History, Potions, Divination and double Defence," he read off, before looking sourly down at the parchment. "Oh balls."

"Aptly put," replied Harry cheerfully and tried to catch Seamus' eye.

The boy glowered back at him. At first, Harry felt another stab of anger, but as he rationalised it, he couldn't help but find a slight humour in it. The boy was literally so terrified of a name that he'd resort to hating those who mentioned it.

"Oh come on," said Harry, trying to contain his laughter. "It's Neville you think's crazy, not me."

Dean twittered nervously.

"Actually," said Luna from behind him. "They think you're both crazy. Oh and Dumbledore too."

Harry craned his neck back and smiled broadly at the girl. He reflected happily that he'd never been more pleased to see anyone in his life; she gave him the perfect excuse to leave.

"Though if they thought about it for a minute, they'd see it's just the Rotfang conspiracy at work," she finished.

"That's right," said Harry, brandishing a piece of toast in Lavender's direction. "If you're not careful I'll curse you with tooth decay."

The girl looked horrified and visibly shrank away from Harry. In hindsight, he thought, making jokes about Lavender's looks probably wasn't the greatest way of winning her friendship back. He turned to Luna instead who had a stack of toast in her hand.

"Where are you eating? This sorry lot are depressing me."

"I was planning on going to see the Merpeople," she said softly. "But I suppose we'll have to go find the Thestrals instead. The chieftain still isn't happy about what you did to his village last year."

"Good idea," said Harry. "I'll bring bacon."

He scooped some up between two pieces of toast and rose from the table. He paused just as he was about to leave and turned back to Lavender and Seamus.

"If it makes you any friendlier towards Neville. Both he and Dumbledore are under my Imperius Curse. I'm using the threat of Voldemort to distract people from my army of heliopaths."

That said, he turned on his heel and left. Luna, balancing her toast precariously, took his arm. As they left the Great Hall, she turned to look at him in interest.

"Do you really have an army of heliopaths? I thought it was just Fudge that had one."

"Only Conlaodh, I'm afraid," replied Harry regretfully.

"You don't have to be afraid," said Luna, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked. "You're with me."

Harry was so touched he didn't even bother to correct her.

Together they walked around the lake, Harry nibbling on his bacon while Luna talked. Every now and then she'd lift her head from his shoulder to make a particularly vehement case as to why the Ministry and Voldemort were in cahoots over chasing otters out of their natural environments or how Fudge was working to his own ends of owning Gringotts.

And in these moments, Harry couldn't help but notice the curve of her lips as she talked, or the wand delicately placed behind her ear. After a while, Harry realised he was staring and took his eyes, but not his mind, off to other things.

The grounds of the castle were perfect today, blanketed in a swath of the hardy cyclamen that clung on despite the encroaching winter. The ground was soft underfoot and the slightest odour of rainfall crept into his nostrils.

Luna was just describing the crux of Voldemort's militant campaign for snake suffrage when they reached the thestral enclosure. They both hopped up on the fence and sat watching the animals. They had been planning to feed the Thestrals the last of the bacon, but to Harry's dismay he found that he'd finished it on the walk down.

"Not to worry," said Luna happily, handing him a slice of toast. "Bacon would only make them hungry for human flesh."

Harry opened his mouth, and then stopped; perhaps it would be better if he didn't ask, so he took a large bite of toast instead. He'd only managed to chew it twice when Luna suddenly kissed him.

It was sudden, clumsy and over before Harry could even react. For a moment he stared at her, almost indignantly and then swallowed.

"I had toast in my mouth," he said finally.

"I know," she said, watching a thestral trot by, a small smile on her lips. "I wasn't sure if you'd mind or not, so I waited until you were busy."

Harry looked at her in exasperation and then licked the crumbs off his lips, catching the slightest hint of something sweet that he assumed must have been Luna. A strange feeling passed over him; his head, normally so full of ideas, thoughts, mysteries, was suddenly silenced. All he could think of was the girl beside him and her strange sweet taste.

"Hey," he said finally.

She turned to look at him and as she did, he kissed her. It was as clumsy as their first kiss, their noses bumping together slightly as they came together. Harry, as popular as he was, hadn't ever had much practice and apparently neither had Luna.

It was short, though not quite as short as their first kiss but their foreheads lingered together for a long while afterwards, enjoying the intimate contact. Harry immersed himself in her smell, her warm breath on his face and a smile spread effortlessly across his face.

Harry moved away first, licking his lips again and enjoying the taste. For a moment he hesitated between climbing off the fence and kissing her again. In the end he tried to do both and ended up falling backwards off the fence. Luna peered down at him curiously.

"Wrackspurts," said Harry, by way of explanation.

Luna nodded sagely.

"Ah, that would explain it."

Harry lay in the grass a while, staring up at the clouds that floated overhead. Thoughts of Luna mimicked them, drifting lazily through his mind; her hot breath brushing his face, that enigmatic taste that lingered on his lips.

Above him, a flock of starlings fluttered overhead, heading south for the winter. He remembered Hermione telling him that some of them flew from as far afield as Sweden to be here for the winter. As he thought it, a hot rush of loss and pain surged through him and one by one, all his worries returned with the starlings that circled overhead. He rose slowly to his feet and Luna smiled at him as though she knew exactly how conflicted he was feeling.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he said finally.

"Don't be silly," she said kindly. "We kissed, I'm not asking you to marry me."

For a long time Harry didn't know what to say. Then eventually he smiled and offered Luna his hand.

"You're right."

"Obviously. The wrackspurts don't affect me."

She took it, with a smile and leapt down from the fence. They stood facing each other momentarily with their hands clasped and then suddenly embraced, holding each other tightly. Minutes passed before they broke away and Luna immediately began to lead him back up to the castle.

"Anyway," she said as though nothing had happened. "Marriage is part of the WSPMC campaign to increase the rate of wizarding divorce."

Harry laughed and glanced at his watch.

"We're really late," he said, though he couldn't find it in him to feel concerned.

"That's alright," said Luna. "People never really seem to mind if I don't turn up."

"To be honest, I doubt Binns will even notice I wasn't there."

"In that case," began Luna, a mischievous expression on her face. "Want to come and watch the giant squid until second lesson?"

When Harry arrived for Potions, he was five minutes late and wearing a smile that stretched from ear to ear. He hurried in, keeping his head down and trying to remain as quiet as possible. Snape, in the middle of a speech, acknowledged him with a glare but continued regardless.

"-during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my displeasure."

Harry took a seat next to Parvati, the only spot left as Lavender was sitting next to Seamus and whispering furiously. Parvati gave him a knowing smile.

"You've got grass on your back," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

Harry gave her a look of thanks and brushed the grass from the back of his cloak. This once again brought Snape's attention to him, he gave Harry another glare and then returned to his speech.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye."

When Snape gave Neville a particularly malevolent stare and in fairness to Snape, Neville had always been an unmitigated failure at potions. Harry began to tune him out and instead focused on gathering his utensils together as silently as possible.

He looked up suddenly as Snape appeared before him at the desk. He regarded Harry coldly and lifted his small silver knife from the top of the desk. For a fleeting moment Harry feared Snape might stab him with it, but after regarding it for a moment, he replaced it on the desk.

"While the rest of you were staring in slack jawed idiocy," he snapped suddenly. "Some of you actually had the intelligence to use the time to prepare."

Harry stared at Snape in amazement, had he just paid him a compliment? Even Parvati seemed inclined toward disbelief. Snape flicked his wand in the direction of the board and the instructions for the Draught of Peace appeared on the blackboard at the front of the class and the cupboard door sprung open. Harry sighed; he hated potions and made up for a complete lack of skill with dedication and hard work. The Draught of Peace would be difficult work.

"Begin," drawled Snape and a cacophony of screeching chairs drowned out everything else in the room.

Harry had just begun to rise himself when a glance from Snape indicated he should sit back down.

"Why were you late, Mr. Potter?" he asked quietly.

"I was detained, Professor," said Harry.

"By whom?"

Harry did a startling impression of a goldfish for a second. He wasn't entirely sure how to answer that. He certainly wasn't going to tell Snape where he'd really been and the Potions Master was vindictive enough to go and ask Binns if he lied.

"Life," said Harry, lamely.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your lateness, five for lying to a member of staff and ten for the grass on my dungeon floor," drawled Snape, vanishing the grass with a flick of his wand. "The next time you wish to have a rendezvous, ensure you don't inconvenience me, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, professor," replied Harry.

Snape regarded him for a moment and then swept off. Parvati returned with enough ingredients for the pair of them and shook her head ruefully at Harry; he could only grin in return.

"Thanks," he said, gratefully accepting the ingredients.

"So, how was it?" she asked after a moment of organising her things.

"How was what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Harry," she said sternly, but Harry could see the amused glint in her eyes.

"Don't play what with who?" asked Harry, a sly smile on his lips.

They worked in silence for the rest of the hour, Harry occasionally helping Parvati where necessary and to Harry's eternal surprise, once or twice Snape stepped in to give them both useful tips. However sour the man's face, Harry couldn't help but feel a little grateful.

By the end of the hour, both Harry and Parvati had ended up with nigh perfect potions that shimmered with the slightest of silver vapours. As he passed, Snape considered Harry's with what he assumed was a mixture of disgust and disappointment.

"You didn't powder that moonstone fine enough, Potter," he snapped and moved away.

Harry merely sighed and was just about to bottle up a sample of his potion when Seamus, who'd spent the last half hour poking the fire into life with his wand, burst into bright purple flames.

Snape immediately went for his wand, but Harry beat him to it, sucking the flames off Seamus' body with a flick of his wand and catching them in the very vial he had intended to put his sample in.

Snape crossed the dungeon and crouched over Seamus, who while unconscious, didn't seem to have a mark on him. He turned to Neville and Dean.

"Take this buffoon to the hospital wing," he snapped, and then he whirled on Harry. "And you Potter, what on earth was going through your idiot brain?"

Harry resisted the urge to talk back and Snape regarded him for a moment longer.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he said, looking as though he might be sick. "As it happens, your idiocy might have just saved your classmate his life."

He snatched the vial of fire from Harry's hand and gave him an empty one in return. Snape then turned to the class at large, now three members short.

"Bottle up your potions and get out of my sight," he hissed and disappeared into his office.

A moment later as they were all ascending the stairs from the dungeons, Lavender approached Harry, her eyes full of tears. Harry couldn't tell if they were genuine or not. Whatever their nature, it seemed as though he was no longer regarded as a nutter.

"That was amazing, Harry," she said.

"Not really," said Harry with a shrug. "All I did was summon and then seal them."

"Fast reflexes, though," said Parvati and Harry shrugged again.

"I just don't know how he did it," said Harry, his brow creased into a frown.

"Did what?" asked Parvati.

"You didn't recognise it?" Harry laughed. "Seamus created Gubraithian Fire, by accident."

The rest of the walk to lunch was consumed with talk of Seamus' accidental conjuration of the powerful magical fire and Harry's ability to so quickly master it. Harry on the other hand was mentally replaying Seamus' actions over in his head. He'd spent weeks in his fourth year trying to create Gubraithian Fire and failed every time.

"The thing I don't understand," said Parvati, as they approached the Gryffindor table. "Is, why if it didn't burn him, Snape said you saved his life?"

"The trick to Gubraithian Fire, the reason it can burn forever, is that it doesn't consume any fuel, it won't use oxygen to burn, so it produces no heat and can't ever go out. The thing it will do though is spread normal fire to those things around it, a couple of seconds longer and Seamus himself would have set on fire," explained Harry. "It's why it's so precious to those that don't have magic of their own. Why it's so dangerous."

Harry had barely been seated at the dinner table for five minutes when he was accosted by Dean and Neville who both had identical expressions of excitement on their faces. Harry felt a momentary tug of exasperation, sometimes it was as though they'd never seen magic before.

"Harry, that was amazing," said Dean. "Totally cool."

Harry frowned up at him in confusion, but Neville nodded his head emphatically.

"The speed at which you reacted," he said. "The look on your face, the way the torches darkened, even Snape looked impressed."

"Whlmmp?" asked Harry through a mouthful of shepherd's pie, he swallowed it abruptly. "What are you guys talking about?"

Everyone looked around at each other for a moment then back to Harry who had to momentarily reign in his temper.

"You know," said Neville. "That stuff you did, it was almost like Dumbledore."

"No, I don't know," snapped Harry, suddenly feeling very self conscious.

He took another huge mouthful of food and chewed it rapidly as his friends sat around him looking slightly put out.

"And what's more," he continued, cutting off Neville who'd opened his mouth to say something. "I'd prefer if you didn't talk about it. The last thing either of us needs is speculation about me cursing people with Gubraithian Fire."

A split-second later, Harry regretted his words.

"Been cursing people with Gubraithian Fire, have you?" asked Fred from over his shoulder.

"I'm pretty sure if we did that we'd get expelled," said George from the other side.

Harry gave them a withering look and then returned to his food, heaping another vast forkful into his face.

"Do you want a straw for that?" asked George, raising his eyebrows.

"I imagine he's going to meet Luna," supplied Parvati, Harry directed his meanest expression at her to no avail, she just smiled back. Sometimes, thought Harry, friends just weren't worth the trouble.

"Where's Ron?" asked Neville suddenly and Harry was grateful for the distraction.

"In the library," said Fred bitterly. "Our brother's turned into a right bookworm over night. Spent all of breakfast there too."

"That'd be my fault," said Harry around the mashed potato in his mouth. "He said he didn't like feeling useless, so I told him to try and catch up with his schoolwork."

The twins glared at him.

"You're an awful influence on him, Harry," said Fred reproachfully. "We're going to have to straighten him out now."

"Don't you dare," said Harry, pushing his plate away. "Poor guy needs a bit of self worth back."

The twins chuckled ruefully and one of them clipped Harry around the ear. Harry turned to glare at them.

"Maybe we'll give him a couple of weeks," said George.

"Say Harry," began Fred suddenly. "Are you going to-?"

He stopped midsentence, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind Harry's head. Harry turned quickly and caught Neville's guilty look.

"What's going on?" he asked, he turned to Fred. "What were you going to ask?"

"Are you going to take Luna to Hogsmede, then," said Fred, nonchalantly.

Harry frowned at him and looked back to Neville.

"What's going on?" he repeated and Neville twisted awkwardly in his chair.

"Damn, you caught us, we're planning you a surprise birthday party," said George, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Gosh, that will be a surprise," said Harry. "Considering my birthday is in August."

He looked round for a moment and nobody would meet his eyes, so eventually he shrugged and rose, swallowing a last forkful of shepherd's pie.

"Fine, keep your secrets, I've got somewhere to be," he said, rising.

Harry was in fact not going to meet Luna, but instead headed for the seventh floor to investigate Malfoy's disappearance last night. It was such an odd place for him to disappear as well; it wasn't even as though there was anything on the seventh floor.

Harry paused midway through the castle in a deserted corridor to check the Marauder's Map. Pleased to see Draco Malfoy's dot was firmly inside the Great Hall, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, as Harry couldn't imagine him leaving any time soon.

Five minutes later he was facing the blank wall opposite the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy, where the map claimed Draco had vanished the night before. There was certainly no evidence of any passage or room to his eyes. Sighing softly, Harry began to prepare himself for the stressful process of finding a magically hidden secret.

He stood still and took a deep breath to steady himself. He allowed his eyes to drift shut; another deep breath grounded him to the stone beneath his feet. He lifted his arm and exhaled again, grounding himself to the stone before him. Then in a sudden surge, detached his mind from his body and trickled his consciousness into his fingertips.

While Dumbledore had the ability to do this without conscious effort, Harry was still a novice when it came to finding the traces magic left behind and it took him several moments to orientate himself. However when he did, he was shocked to find all pervasive magic emanating from the stone. A magic that was peculiar, foreign and rich. It was almost certainly not human magic, but nor did it feel like any magic Harry had known from the Old World.

Then again, the magic of the Old World was as varied as it was strange and it was very strange.

Harry tried desperately to find some common ground with magic he knew and understood but couldn't. With a frustrated growl, he lowered his fingers and righted himself. He was just about to start with his wand when a sudden voice spoke out behind him.

"Couldn't keep your nose out, could you Potter?" said Draco Malfoy.

Harry spun and the wands of both wizards exploded with simultaneous spells; Draco's curse ricocheting off Harry's shield and catching the Slytherin firmly under the chin.

He spun away, a dazed expression momentarily on his face, before snapping back to parry Harry's disarming spell. Harry was interested to note that whatever curse Draco had intended for him didn't appear to be particularly harmful.

"Good afternoon Draco," said Harry in amusement. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Potter," slurred Draco, his eyes slightly glazed. As Harry watched, the blonde almost fell, instead staggering against the wall.

Some form of intoxication curse, Harry decided and lowered his wand slightly. Draco, sensing this momentary weakness, despite his own situation raised his own wand to curse him again.

Harry however, beat him to it and deflected his curse into a tapestry that burst into flames. Draco leapt forward, taking Harry by surprise and crashing bodily into him, sending them both clattering to the floor.

The wind rushed out of Harry as his back hit the floor and his elbow jarred painfully against the floor, knocking his wand from his hand. Malfoy wasted no time in pushing it away with his free hand.

The Slytherin then raised his fist to hit Harry in the face and Harry, with a skill born of long practice with Dudley, twisted out from under him, rose and seizing Draco by the head with both hands, planted his knee in the boy's face.

The blonde dropped backwards, his nose clearly broken and seeping blood. Harry made for his wand and turned to find Malfoy raising his own in his direction.

"Cruc-" began Draco.

As Harry saw the Draco's lips begin to form the cruciatus curse he slashed his wand across his body, snapping the boy's mouth shut, preventing him from finishing the curse and then brought it to bear once more.

"Expelliarmus!" roared Harry, forgoing silent casting in his anger.

The wand flew in a high arc across the corridor and Harry caught it deftly, not once taking his eyes off his foe. Draco, undeterred, threw himself again at Harry, who sidestepped his poorly thrown punch.

A flick of Harry's wand was enough to force the boy backwards, stumbling across the corridor and collapsing in a heap. Hot anger still surged through Harry and he was just about to curse Draco until two pairs of strong arms seized him around his chest and heaved him backwards.

"Hey, calm down," said Fred as Harry swung himself around, his wand raised.

"You'll take someone's eye out," replied George, jovial tones in his voice, despite the serious expression on his face.

Harry took a deep breath and turned back to Draco, who was leaning against the wall bleeding from a scrape on the back of his head. He was still severely tempted to curse him but George laid a placating hand on his arm.

"Come on Harry, remember what you said on the train."

Harry had to take several moments to recall what George was even talking about, then he nodded, spat and turned away with them. He took a moment before rounding the corner to glance back at Draco who glared malevolently back at him, his eyes full of defiance. He casually dropped Draco's wand through the faceplate of a nearby suit of armour.

"It's almost the end of dinner," announced Fred, in a blatant attempt to distract Harry. "What have you got next?"

"Divination," he replied, gloom inflecting his tone; the adrenaline from the fight had subsided, leaving him feeling hollow. "Thanks back there. You stopped me from doing something really stupid."

"No problem," said Fred. "We're always handy."

Harry nodded and then paused, a puzzled expression on his face. A question had just occurred to him.

"What were you guys even doing up here?"

"Following you of course," said George, a cheeky smile on his face.

Harry shook his head in exasperation.

"Oh and I'd watch that nasty temper around Umbridge," said Fred with a frown. "We had her first thing and Lee's already got a week's worth of detention."

Harry nodded, he'd suspected as much.

The twins escorted him to Divination, apparently unwilling to allow him to walk himself. Though with the Twin's knowledge of the secret passages of Hogwarts, in no time at all he was climbing the rope ladder to the stuffy Divination classroom.

He took a seat at a table with Dean and Seamus, the Irish boy giving him a look of contempt that wasn't quite as harsh as it had been earlier in the day. He seemed to bear no ill-effects from his experience earlier in the day. Harry tipped his imaginary hat in greeting to Professor Trelawny who smiled fondly at him.

"Good day, dear," she said airily and turned to the class at large, a dreamy expression on her face. "Welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely as, of course, I knew you would."

Harry allowed the professor's words to wash over him, her dulcet tones and the thick cloying air guiding him almost immediately into a haze of deep relaxation. For a moment he resisted as he heard the professor mention something about dream interpretation and a smile momentarily graced his lips.

Divination was Harry's single favourite lesson, not that he ever really took an active part in it. The majority of his lessons contained more revision than learning and Harry took no pleasure from scoring highly on tests or earning points for his house. Divination on the other hand was always new to Harry and even more refreshingly, it was like Old Magic, something that didn't come easily to him.

Challenges, more than anything, were what appealed to Harry so he threw himself whole-heartedly in the attempt to divine the meaning of Dean's dream about catching watermelons with a net. Indeed, he has so engrossed that he was surprised when the end of the lesson arrived.

"Do you have to do that?" asked Seamus as they descended the ladder again. His earlier animosity had apparently been forgotten in his new exasperation.

"Do what?" asked Harry mildly.

"Be so enthusiastic," replied Seamus with a sigh. "She chides the rest of us so much more when you are."

"I can't help it," said Harry apologetically. "It interests me."

They met Neville at the top of the flight of stairs that lead up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts. His friend looked a little happier at Seamus' improved attitude.

"Missed you in Divination," murmured Harry as they all shuffled into their seats. "You really shouldn't have given it up, y'know."

"Easy for you to say," replied Neville with the slightest of smiles on his lips. "She doesn't predict your death every five minutes."

Harry chuckled slightly and looked down at his textbook distastefully. Dumbledore had warned him about Umbridge, not that he'd needed too. Harry had long followed her progress due to her outspoken and hideously biased opinion of what she called 'half-breeds'.

"Wands away, textbooks out," said a prim voice from behind them. Harry glanced back to see Umbridge enter the room behind them.

She was no less foul up close, Harry crinkled his nose as a sickly-sweet aroma drifted across the room toward him and as her pink robes brushed past him on her way to the front of the class, Harry was suddenly overcome with the urge to vomit.

Professor Umbridge stood at the front of the class and stared out at them imperiously, then she allowed a small smile to settle on her lips.

"Good afternoon class," she said.

"Good afternoon Professor Umbridge," replied the class, Harry adding enough fervour to the tone to satisfy her.

"Good," she said and waved her wand at the blackboard.

The words 'Defence Against the Dark Arts - A Return to Basic Principles' appeared there written in white chalk. Umbridge surveyed them one more.

"Now it is my understanding that my predecessors have been fairly incompetent-"

There were a half-dozen spluttered protests that seemed to throw Umbridge off-stride. Harry was proud to hear the name 'Professor Lupin' muttered several times by the protestors. He, however, laid a warning hand on Neville's arm and kept his mouth shut.

"Silence!" snapped Umbridge, to instant quiet. She took a calming breath and continued. "As I was saying; my predecessors were haphazard, followed no ministry-approved course requirements and have left you woefully ill-prepared for your OWLs."

She glared around as though challenging someone else to speak up in protest. Nobody did.

"As such," she said once again waving her wand in the direction of the blackboard, upon which her course aims appeared in the same floral script. "We shall be going back to basics in order for you to gain the most from your education here at Hogwarts."

Harry was somewhat surprised when he saw Neville's hand shoot up next to him. He looked at his friend with surprise.

"Yes, Mister-?" acknowledged Umbridge and there were once again dissenting murmurs, nobody believed for one second that she didn't recognise the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Longbottom," replied Neville curtly. "I merely wanted some clarification on your course aims; you've said nothing at all about using spells."

For a moment silence reigned throughout the classroom and Harry raised his eyebrows. He'd known Neville was not behind the door, but that insight had been remarkably quick.

Umbridge gave an incredulous little laugh.

"Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Mister Longbottom. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class? There is no need to worry. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"

"And what good is that if you are about to be attacked?" snapped Neville, cutting across Umbridge.

Harry shot Neville a glare which he ignored. Umbridge laughed again, but her piggy eyes were overcome with malice. For a moment Harry thought one of them would attempt to provoke the other but the moment passed and Umbridge turned away to face the class again.

"Yes, dear?" she asked Parvati, who'd raised her hand.

"Isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

"And what good is theory going to do us when Lord Voldemort comes knocking?" snapped Neville, his fingers white on the edge of the desk in a furious rage.

Silence fell across the room and Umbridge turned to face him, her face inscrutable. Harry dug his elbow into Neville's ribs.

"Shut up," he hissed warningly but for all the good it did he might as well have not bothered.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom," she said in a quiet tone of voice that only seemed to antagonize Neville further. She turned back to the room. "You have been told that a dangerous dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He wasn't dead," interrupted Neville, rising to his feet. Harry seized him by the arm and tried to pull him back into his chair, but he shook his arm free of his grasp with a vicious motion. "But he is back."

"Another ten points," replied Umbridge smoothly. "And sit down, Mr. Longbottom before I make it thirty."

"No I won't you hag," snapped Neville and the rest of the class fell deathly silent with a unanimous intake of breath. "You explain why I spent all summer in St. Mungos then."

"Neville, sit down," snapped Harry, his temper finally fraying. "Sit down, shut up and stop lying."

Neville turned to look at him in disbelief, shock was etched on to every facet of his face. He stared dumbly at Harry for a moment.

"How can you-" he began and then words failed him in his anger.

"Sit," commanded Harry and now shaking with fury Neville sat. "Apologise to the professor."

Neville stared at him in loathing for a minute then glanced at Umbridge and mumbled something under his breath. For a moment Harry had the nasty suspicion that she would ask him to repeat himself but after a moment she nodded at Harry and moved away.

"Open your books to page one," she said primly. "And begin reading."

Neville spent the rest of the lesson staring darkly at the page before him. Harry didn't see his eyes move once from the same spot on the page. When the lesson ended, he left the room immediately, not making eye contact with anyone

Harry was about to follow him with the goal of apologising but Umbridge called him over before he could leave.

"Mr Potter, a word if you please," she said as he made his way toward the door. With a sigh he came to stand before her desk.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. Umbridge waited until they were alone to reply.

"Whilst I appreciate your enthusiasm to help," she began her voice soft and sweet enough to make Harry suppress a cringe. "I don't need help controlling my class."

"No professor," he said as respectfully as he could manage.

"Nor should you address your peers in such a way."

"No professor." A moment of silence reigned between them. "Am I dismissed?"

"Tell me," she said abruptly. "You told Longbotton to stop lying. So what truly happened in the maze?"

Harry stared her in the eyes for a moment, she seemed to edge slightly further away from him.

"Barty Crouch had cursed the cup," he said quietly. "When we lifted it together, Neville was blown off his feet and infected by some horrific curse. I knew I had to act quickly to save his life and it was twenty minutes of almost constant spell-casting before I could alert anyone else to his critical condition."

He could almost see Umbridge's brain digesting this information. She momentarily half closed her eyes in something that looked like pleasure.

"So Dumbledore's story?"

"I don't know about that professor," said Harry quickly. "He told me never to tell anyone the true story. But the Minister sent you, so I think if I can trust anyone, it's you."

"That's right Harry," she said happily and smiled at him. "And Mr. Longbottom?"

"He doesn't remember anything," replied Harry. "He only knows what Dumbledore told him. He doesn't know any better."

"How sad," said Umbridge quietly. If Harry didn't know better, he might have thought she meant it. "Taking that into consideration, I won't put him into detention. He's lucky to have such a loyal friend with his best interests at heart."

"Thank you professor."

She looked at him a moment longer and then nodded.

"You'd best be on your way, Harry," she said finally. Harry nodded and headed out the door, just after he reached the corridor her voice trailed back to him through the open door. "And thirty points to Gryffindor for saving your friend's life."

Harry frowned all the way back to the tower.


	5. The Great Sorcerer

**CONLAODH'S SONG  
Chapter Five: The Great Sorcerer**

A flush of memories swirled around him; bright, vibrant and hot with emotion.

He felt his fingers grasp firmly around the stone in his pocket. Saw the shimmer on the red faceted surface reflected in the mirror. Then a swirl of colour and emotion and his arm was pierced by a blinding pain. Blood, hot and viscous, gushed over his arm. Then another swirl of emotion.

Now he was eight years old and his grandmother was looking down at him, a severe expression painted on her face. Each weathered line on her face a crack on a painter's canvas.

"Neville," he heard her say, but her voice was muffled, as though she were speaking through wool. "I've never been so dissapointed."

Another spinning rollercoaster of emotion, glimpses of Ginny's approaching face, which he allowed to fall away, linked to them were glimpses of the Room of Requirement, accompanied by feelings of panic and secrecy, he allowed these to flow into images of Umbridge and a burning sensation in his hand.

_I must not tell lies._

Harry let his wand fall to his side and looked down sympathetically at Neville, who knelt before him on the dungeon's stone floor. His face was pale and a sheen of cold sweat clung to his skin and glimmered in the torch light. His hair, normally perfect, stuck to his forehead, masking his lightning-bolt scar.

Harry regarded his friend's stretched and haggard face for a moment. His heart heavy as he remembered the full-faced boy he'd met in the first year at school. The weight had all but fallen off him after the basilisk, his round cheeks had given way to a hard jaw and his stomach had given away to physique.

He could now almost be considered handsome, thought Harry, especially now as the first vestiges of scruffy facial hair had appeared on his jaw. Yet Harry couldn't help but miss the old Neville, full of naievety and innocence.

"You've gotta clear your mind, Neville," he said gently and crouched down next to him, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Harry knew from experience that this was how Dumbledore would show affection to him and it always bolstered his confidence. Neville however showed his stubborn streak and shrugged away his hand and rose to his feet.

"I don't know what you mean," he snapped, his eyes narrowed slightly.

Harry calmed himself with a deep breath. Though he cared deeply for his friend, he really did try his patience some days. Yet Harry knew a tone of exasperation would only turn this into a fully-fledged argument.

"Exactly that," he said as steadily as he could.

He too rose and took two steps away, giving Neville enough time to compose himself. When he turned back, his best friend's body was still tense and furious. Harry sighed; he'd been a little optimistic in hoping to avoid an argument.

"Trust me Neville, this is exactly how I was taught. If I knew a better or more subtle way to teach you, I would."

"But I'm not you, am I?" he retorted. "I never will be the great Harry Potter."

Harry regarded him in genuine surprise.

"Why would you want to be?" he asked tactlessly.

Neville all but stamped his foot in anger and for a moment rage robbed him of speech.

"The things you do," he finally managed. "The things you do without thought would take other people weeks of practice. You flick your wand and magic dances to your command. You're widely recognised as the most prodigous wizard since Dumbledore himself."

"But-" began Harry.

"No!" snapped Neville in anger. "I don't care what you say, we both know it should have been you, the boy-who lived and everything that goes with it. You're the hero, not me."

"There's more important things to being a great wizard than spells and cleverness."

Neville froze for a split second, his mouth slightly ajar, then considered Harry thoughtfully.

"That's what Hermione told me," he said, in surprise.

"I know," said Harry. "And she was right."

Neville turned away slightly, shame-faced for a half second, then he looked Harry in the eyes.

"Is she why you help me?"

"Yes and no. You're all I have left of her, she loved you and I loved her." Harry paused. "Despite that though, you're my friend, I'll help you with my last breath."

Neville couldn't think of a response to that, so merely frowned. Harry gave him a smile in return.

"You want to try again?"

Neville nodded.

"Okay, take a deep breath and let your mind detatch. Feel it rise upward and out of your head toward the stars, then let them burn out, until you're surrounded by nothing but darkness. Now, Legilimens!"

For a moment nothing happened but the tightening of Neville's face. Then Harry found himself in the usual whirlwind of Neville's thoughts and memories; the glint of the Philospoher's stone, the warm blood of the basilisk, his grandmother's scorn. He broke wand contact far quicker this time and beamed at his shaking friend.

"Good!" he declared happily. "You held me out for a moment. We'll leave it there for tonight, but keep practicing with it. Clear your mind before you sleep."

"No," replied Neville flatly. There was a slight defiance in his stance, despite the exhaustion that clearly wracked him. "You said you'd teach me something of the Old Magic you know. You promised."

Harry schooled his expression into one of surprise, as though he'd forgotten about his promise. Internally though, he cursed. Old Magic was difficult enough when a wizard was well rested and emotionally stable. Neville was likely to try too hard in an attempt to prove himself and only compound the issues he was already suffering from. Yet if Harry were to refuse, Neville would only take that harder.

"Sorry. It slipped my mind, take a seat."

Harry flashed Neville a smile and flicked his wand. Two chairs flew from the side of the unused classroom and landed between them, facing each other. Another flick of his wand and they were transfigured into deep armchairs of a hideous puce.

"The Dursley's suite," he said, by way of apology, and then sat.

For a moment, Harry sat and contemplated his friend. He found himself wondering when Neville had begun to look so weary. The occlumency took it out of him in spades, of course, but it was something Harry was noticing on a day to day basis now. It peturbed him.

"Okay," he began, settling back into the comfy chair. Neville subconciously emulated him. "To perform Old Magic, we must understand it's purpose and to understand it's purpose, we must know some history."

At a pained expression from Neville, Harry laughed.

"Don't worry. I hope I shan't be as boring as Binns."

A slight exertion of his will dimmed the fire on the room's torches and he saw Neville lean forward slightly. The part of Harry's mind that loved to be the center of attention, his inner showman, smiled predatorily.

"It's important that I begin by telling you that much of this is conjecture. Dumbledore and I have spent almost a year compiling everything we could find on the subject and it's still woefully little. Yet we have ideas."

Harry paused for dramatic effect and nestled back further still into the lining of the chair. When he began again, it was in a different tone of voice.

"Something that's not commonly taught to young witches and wizards is that what we call magic is only, at longest, seven thousand years old.

"It goes against everything we're taught of magic. We see magic as immutable yet diverse, turbulent but fundementally logical. However, it wasn't always so.

"Long before people, long before any quasi-sentient creature pulled itself out of the primordial ooze, there was a different order of things. The world was home to a race of beings that had existed before anything had existed. The storm-born, the Shedu, the fleeing refugees of a universe before ours.

"And though these creatures were ancient, and though they knew Earth and all of it's potential, the magic in them was nothing compared to the power we posess, their power lay in the universe before and the rules of our universe were unkind to them.

"Yet they thrived here and as life on Earth evolved, so did they. You see, all living things on the planet have the potential to be magical and these creatures, the Shedu, they fed from it.

"And so it continued, for billions of years. The world was shaped and life evolved and magic had no hand in things. Things existed in balance until about two-hundred thousand years ago, when man arrived.

"For whatever reason, our capacity for reason was unlike anything that had come before and thus our potential for magic was huge. It was not long before one of the Shedu, Urubutsin, realised that by utilizing the magic of humans, they could shape the universe around them."

Neville started in surprise and have Harry a look of disbelief. Harry could only chuckle in response.

"Yes, that Urubutsin. I had difficulty believing Dumbledore when he told me the same thing. Though I imagine it's far easier to accept once you see myth become reality before your own eyes as I have.

"Anyway, the Shedu reverted parts of our world to theirs, the rules of our universe gave way to theirs and once again they could use their own magic. And so, they came to have form. Some became the elves, others became great spirits of fire, others became worse still.

"And you must know the end of this story," concluded Harry finaly.

"Kuat and Iae watched their people torment humanity and were disgusted with their own cruelty. So they forced the great Sorcerer Urubutsin to give the humans their magic. Then Kuat and Iae lead the people to destroy the old races. They warred for a thousand years, until all that remained of the old races was the city of Murias, which sank beneath the waves." murmered Neville, repeating the creation story told to all wizarding children. "Then Kuat became the sun and Iae became the moon, to illuminate the world from ignorance."

"Well I'm not sure that's true," laughed Harry. "But what Dumbledore and I most certainly believe is true, is that before he was forced back to the city of Murias, Urubutsin fundementally changed the laws of reality."

Neville stared at Harry as though he'd grown an extra-head but Harry smiled broadly and leant forward excitedly. When he spoke, it was with a strange passion.

"Think about it; the strange nuances of magic! The five Principal Exceptions to Gramp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration! If you were about to be defeated and you had one last chance to place a curse on an entire species, what better than to prevent them from using magic to create that which would give them eternal happiness."

Neville stared at him blankly and almost fell out of his chair in shock as Harry leapt to his feet, ringing his hands slightly in impatience.

"Love, Gold, Food, Life, Time," listed Harry, touching each of the fingers on his left hand in turn. "Think about it, if you wanted to doom an entire race, what better things to prevent them from creating?"

He sat again and managed to school his expression and tone back to a quiet neutrality. He smiled at Neville, who was frowning in an attempt to get his head around what Harry had just told him.

"Anyway," continued Harry, as though his outburst had never happened. "Mastery of Old Magic gives us two things; it allows us to perform magic in the areas of the world where the old rules apply. It gives us a weapon to fight them. However secondly, and far more importantly, it will eventually provide us with the keys to unlock the magic that Urubutsin stole from us."

Neville nodded thoughtfully. Harry felt his smile widen, he hadn't been sure if his friend would understand the possibilities implied.

"Anyway, now you understand the reason we learn Old Magic, I can teach you some basics." Harry shook his head as Neville instantly reached for his wand. "You can't use your wand as a focus for this, the Unicorn Hair isn't Old. Things in the realm of Old Magic are less literal and more figurative. Knots in string, hand movements, music, Dumbledore can use his own mind as a focus. However, you're going to be using these."

Harry produced a small leather bag from his pocket, pulled closed at the top by a thin drawstring. He held it out to his friend, who took it with a puzzled look. He opened the bag slightly and up ended it into his hand, three small grey pebbles fell out of the bag and into Neville's palm. They were polished completely smooth and gleamed slightly in the flickering torchlight.

"This is basalt," said Harry taking one from Neville's hand and holding it up to the light. "Dumbledore cut these from the Giant's Causeway. They're so seeped in Old Magic touching them actually makes my skin crawl."

He smilled at Neville and put the stone back in his hand. Then he rose and with an effortless sweep of his mind, he extinguished all of the torches in the room, leaving them in the darkness. He walked behind Neville's chair.

"Before we begin, you've got to understand that this will be the hardest thing you'll have ever done. It took me months to even get the slightest reaction. Everything that Occulemency requires of you is required threefold here. If you don't want to still do this, I'll understand completely."

Even though he couldn't see him. Harry knew his friend's face had just flushed stubbornly, that a scowl had formed on his face. Neville hated being told that he couldn't do something and he was stubborn enough that he'd go to the ends of the Earth to prove otherwise.

"I'm doing this," snapped Neville and Harry smiled again.

"You've been warned," replied Harry ominously. "Okay, to begin, you've got to become harmoniously attatched to your focus. I want you to hold those pebbles and without moving your hand, learn every facet of them. How they feel, how they weigh, the minute flaws in their surface, the way they sound as they rub together. You've got to know everything about them. I'm going to leave you alone while you do."

"Okay," said Neville and Harry couldn't help but notice the wary tone in his voice. He reached out and put his hand on his friend's shoulder for a moment before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The corridor was much chillier than the dungeon classroom had been and the slightest breeze through the corridor snapped at the sheen of sweat on Harry's brow and neck. For a moment he allowed his exhaustion to creep to the surface and he slumped backward against the wall.

The slightest disturbance in the air around him made him look up hurridley, but he relaxed again when he met the kindly eyes of Dumbledore. The headmaster flicked his wand in the direction of the door and Harry knew that they were free to talk without Neville overhearing them.

"Sir," he said, by way of greeting and stood up straight.

"Hello Harry," replied Dumbledore. "How is Mr. Longbottom fairing?"

"He's exhausting work," admitted Harry. "He's got so much bottled up inside his head. So many thoughts and feelings, he feels like he's going to explode. Please tell me I wasn't that chaotic."

Dumbledore laughed.

"I dare say you were worse. I've never seen quite a mind like yours."

Harry shuddered in horror. The only other mind he'd truely explored had been Dumbledore's and it had been as he'd expected. The headmaster's mind was akin to a river, fast flowing and powerful, yet deceptively serene. Above all it had been organised, something that Neville sorely lacked.

"You have left him to practice clearing his mind?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry shook his head.

"I gave him the pebbles, the Occlumency was exhausting him."

"And you, I daresay," said Dumbledore with a smile. "You think he has the potential for Old Magic?"

"I think he won't be satisfied until he has tried. He's obstinate like that."

"Be that as it may-" Dumbledore stopped in mid sentence and looked a little over Harry's shoulder. "Ah, good evening Delores."

Harry wheeled around and saw the sickly pink form of Proffessor Umbridge walking down the corridor towards him. Quickly, and under the guise of straightening his robes, he cast a notice-me-not charm on the door of the room Neville was in. The slightest click of a lock told him that Dumbledore had just peformed a locking charm.

"Professor Dumbledore," simpered Umbridge as she approached them. Her expression changed as she caught sight of Harry and a prim smile reached her lips. "And Mr. Potter too, how delightful."

"As I was saying Harry, there are two Gryffindor students out of bounds," continued Dumbledore, his eyes never leaving Umbridge. "I don't suppose you could retrieve them."

"Of course not, Professor," said Harry promptly. "I must have missed them on the rest of my patrol."

He turned to leave, but one of Umbridge's stubby fingered hands seized him by the shoulder.

"Hold on a minute, Mr Potter," she said.

Harry barely surpressed a sudden desire to ram his wand up her nose. Instead he looked at her with an expression of polite curiosity.

"Professor?"

Behind Umbridge, Dumbledore gave Harry a warning glance.

"I'd like a word later, Harry. Your last essay for me was substandard."

Dumbledore's expression darkened a minute and then he cleared his throat softly behind her.

"May I remind you Delores, we are fast approaching midnight? I'm sure you wouldn't want Harry to fall asleep in his classes tomorrow."

Umbridge looked calculatingly at him for a moment, then snorted haughtily.

"As you wish, Dumbledore. Tomorrow evening then, Harry."

With that, she swept off in the direction she'd just come. For a moment, Harry could only stare blankly after her, then he turned back to Dumbledore who had an expression of slight amusement on his face.

"I do believe she means to turn you against me," he said, a tone of incredulity colouring his voice. "What a deplorable woman."

Harry couldn't help but laugh and Dumbledore's twinkled merrily for a moment. Then he clapped his hands together.

"Well, you'd best return to Neville's lesson, I think."

Harry nodded and turned back to the door, dispelling both charms with a flick of his wand before stepping inside the room.


	6. Umbridge

**CONLAODH'S SONG  
Chapter Six: Umbridge**

High above him the sky was empty. The waning October sunlight did nothing to warm the cold Scottish air that bit at the exposed flesh of his face and hands. The slightest trickle of mist escaped his lips with each breath and spiralled upward.

Luna rustled in the grass next to him and he turned to look at her. Her porcelain skin was tinged pink at the tip of her nose and despite the shivers racking her body, a wide smile consumed her face.

Harry edged closer and folded his body around her to give her his warmth. She nestled happily in to his body, her eyes never once leaving the sky. He watched her a moment longer, then lifted his fingers to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm imagining clouds," she replied dreamily. Harry couldn't help but allow a smile to grace his lips. She rolled over to face him and edged further into his embrace. "What are you thinking?"

"That you're beautiful."

She kissed him, the gentle feeling of her lips against his a sensation that enveloped him. They lay for a few moments, their noses touching, breathing each other's breath.

As the darkness closed in around them Harry realised he still had to visit Umbridge tonight. A heavy weight settled in his chest and rolled on to his back; spread eagled on the grass and stared at the sky once more. Luna crushed herself to his side as the cold bit into her once more.

"Sometimes I just wish everything would stop," said Harry abruptly.

"Time flies like an arrow," said Luna sagely, then her mouth curved at the ends into an unmistakable grin. "And fruit flies like a banana."

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"I have to go see Umbridge," he said when he had air in his lungs again.

Together they rose and returned to the castle, her petite hand closed inside his own. As she walked a little before Harry, gently leading him by his hand, Luna stared upward once more, a genuine expression of wonder on her features.

"I love autumn," he heard her whisper.

They parted company with a final embrace at the bottom of the staircase that lead to Umbridge's classroom. As she left, she gave him a final look, her sparkling blue eyes dancing in the golden sunlight that crept through the high windows, the pale colour of her lips gleamed as she smiled back. Then she disappeared through the door.

"Harry," said a familiar soft voice behind him.

He turned to an empty room. Only the statue of the humpbacked witch stared imposingly down at him. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across her twisted features, giving her the appearance of being in agony.

Harry turned slowly on the spot and with curiosity found that the windows which had only seconds ago been casting golden light on to Luna's face were now clouded in darkness. He reached for his wand, only to find it gone.

His heart was racing now; he'd just lost an extended period of time and his wand. For the briefest of moments, panic set in. Thousands of possibilities and explanations flashed through his mind and his stomach twisted into a knot of fear. Then a thought came to the forefront of his mind; Dumbledore would know what to do.

He was just turning in the direction of the corridor and Dumbledore's office when he, by reflex, checked his watch. It was ten past nine.

"I'm late to see Umbridge," said Harry to himself and curiously, found his feet ascending the staircase to her room. He teetered on the edge of a stair for a moment upon the realisation that his body was acting automatically. For some reason his head felt wooden and empty, as though someone had placed a needle in the spokes of the intricate clockwork of his mind.

He was slightly dizzy too, as though he'd suffered a blow to the head. His footsteps as he continued to climb were unsteady and twice he almost fell. His stomach felt unbearably hot, whilst his extremities felt ice cold.

What's more, Harry felt sure there was a cause for all of these things, sure indeed that he knew the cause. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it. With a slight overwhelming feeling of surprise he found himself before the door to Umbridge's office.

He knocked twice on the door and waited in silence for a moment. He momentarily considered the prospect of running away; Umbridge had invited him up here under the flimsiest of pretences and he was almost certainly not in the mental state to realistically deal with her.

He was just about to turn away when the door opened and Umbridge's toady face smiled sweetly out at him. Harry suddenly found himself barely restraining himself from punching her in the middle of her very ugly nose.

"Harry," she said happily and took a step backwards, allowing him into the room. "Come in, take a seat. Tea?"

"Yes please," Harry barely managed as a wave of revulsion and nausea washed over him. He swallowed thickly and took the proffered seat.

He couldn't for the life of him understand why he was finding it so hard to control himself. He looked at the roaring fire on one side of the room and shook his head in bewilderment, the room was already relentlessly warm, he couldn't fathom how Umbridge could stand it. He removed his cloak and slung it over the back of his chair.

"Rather warm in here Professor," he said cheerfully as Umbridge poured him tea.

"I thought it was rather chilly myself," said Umbridge, a slight amount of surprise creeping into her tone. "You've been spending too much time in those chilly dungeons patrolling."

For a moment Harry thought she almost sounded concerned, then as she turned to face him, he realised who he was talking to and another wave of hatred rolled over him. He barely managed to keep smiling as he accepted the tea from her.

"Now Harry," she said as she sat in the chair behind her desk. She regarded him predatorily then looked down at a sheet of paper before her. "I felt it was time we had a little chat."

"About my essay professor?"

"No, no. Your essay was very good. You must have put a lot of work into it."

Harry smiled and took a sip of tea. He caught the slightest gleam of satisfaction in her eyes and he quickly deduced with a jolt of horror that she'd just slipped him something.

"No, Harry, what I want to talk to you about is your future?"

"My future?" asked Harry, surprised. He tugged at his collar slightly trying to get more air.

"Yes, have you ever considered what you're going to do after you've finished your studies?"

"I'd like to work for the Minister," he said and with a sudden horrible jolt, realised he was compelled to tell the truth; she'd dosed him with veritiserum.

Umbridge beamed at him.

"Well, from what I can see, you've a very promising future before you, Harry. I can certainly put in a good word with the Minister when you're done with your studies."

"Thank you," said Harry.

"No problem at all," she said, her eyes wide with delight. "There's just one thing Harry. Did you know that the headmaster continues to insist that a certain dark wizard has returned?"

"Yes, I read that in the papers," said Harry, still unable to control his tongue. Umbridge smiled at him.

"What is your opinion on the matter?" she asked. "What happened after the third task?"

Harry paused a moment, thinking. It took him a moment to recall the beginning of summer, it seemed so long ago. His brain still wasn't working as it should and the heat in the room didn't help at all.

"That's not what happened," he replied and a vindicated smile spread across Umbridge's face. "We were taken to a graveyard. Sirius Black was there. He cursed Neville, but I managed to fight him and escape to safety."

"That's very heroic Harry," she simpered. "Now, I know you're very close to the headmaster, but have you ever heard him talk about the Ministry?"

"No," said Harry, whilst trying to grit his teeth to prevent himself from talking. "He doesn't really tell me anything. He just teaches me things."

"What things?"

Harry tried his hardest to recall, it was such a struggle with the heat and the luring sensation of calm in his mind. He suppressed the urge to throw his chair at Umbridge and run. Every fibre of his body screamed that this was wrong.

"Duelling, mostly," he said, after a long moment of consideration. "History too, he likes to teach me about revolutionaries."

The expression of vindication on Umbridge's face increased. She leant back in her chair and surveyed Harry for a moment then her expression abruptly changed.

"Do you wish to overthrow the Ministry?" she said quickly.

"No," blurted Harry. "What?"

She smiled again.

"Never mind Harry. Have you finished your tea? Good. Time to run along I think. I will put that word in with the Minister."

Harry rose woodenly from the chair and placed his half full cup back on Umbridge's desk. Before he knew it, he was out at the top of the staircase again and followed it down. His mind was an incomprehensible jumble of thoughts as he reached the foot of the staircase.

"Harry," said a familiar, soft voice from behind him.

He spun on the spot and came face to face with Dumbledore. For a moment feelings of revulsion and joy battled between him. One part of his mind knew that Dumbledore would be able to help him, to tell him what was going on. Another told him what he had subconsciously deduced in Umbridge's office; Dumbledore was a dangerous revolutionary.

"Get away from me," he snapped and took a step back from Dumbledore, who lifted his hands to placate him.

"Raspberries," said Dumbledore simply.

Harry stared at him blankly and for a moment thought that he had misheard the headmaster. It was a strange thing to say after all; raspberries.

At the moment that his brain really processed the word, an almighty pain burst through Harry's skull. He fell to his knees with a roar of pain as his entire mind painfully turned itself inside out. When his body finally relaxed he leant forward, exhausted. Dumbledore knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You modified my memories," said Harry, between deep, calming breaths.

"You remember?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes," replied Harry, recalling the conversation they'd had in this very spot an hour ago. "It was my idea."

"Then the trigger worked as intended," said Dumbledore happily. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great, if I'm honest," admitted Harry between gritted teeth. "It all went to plan, though."

"I still think it would have been better to employ occlumency. You are surely capable enough to withstand veritiserum."

"I couldn't be sure she wouldn't just curse me."

Harry rose awkwardly to his feet, he was still fairly dizzy and Dumbledore made to assist him. Harry swatted away the headmaster's hands; the feelings of mistrust hadn't entirely subsided.

"I'm capable," he snapped and then regretted it at the expression on the old man's face. He spoke again, in a softer tone. "Thank you."

Dumbledore nodded and after a lingering expression of worry, pulled Harry's wand from his robes and returned it. Harry examined it fondly and slipped it into his robes. With a smile, Dumbledore beckoned Harry to follow him.

Harry said goodnight to Dumbledore at the portrait of the Fat Lady, but could feel the headmaster's eyes bore into him as he clambered wearily through the hole. The Gryffindor common room was surprisingly rowdy for the time of evening and Harry had little patience for it, so headed straight upstairs.

In an otherwise deserted dormitory, he found Neville sat on the end of his bed, his face white and shining in the moonlight that fell through the open window, his sweat-damp hair barely moving in the breeze that swept the curtains inches from the ground.

He glanced up at Harry with deep, mournful eyes and sniffed. He looked utterly broken. For a moment, a little thrill of terror leapt through Harry's stomach and all traces of weariness fell away as he dropped to his knees beside Neville, hurriedly checking him for injury and finding none.

"Neville, what's wrong?" he asked urgently.

Neville looked at the floor, a pained expression on his face, his jaw set so hard that the lines of his neck bulged. When he finally opened his mouth, it was with a wrenching motion. He looked at Harry again and for the first time Harry noticed his friend's scar was an angry red.

"He's happy," he said simply.

Harry sat beside him on the bed, he was certain Neville wouldn't allow or appreciate physical contact, so he offered comfort by merely sitting close to him. For a long time silence reigned between them and after a while, Neville stopped shaking and began to take calmer breaths.

"How is the occlumency going?" asked Harry.

"What does it look like?" spat Neville, a bitter tone in his voice.

"Like things are improving."

Neville flashed him a glare.

"Not from where I'm sitting."

"It hurt the worst ever though, this time, right?"

"Yes."

"Then he's having to work harder to send you the visions," said Harry. "That's why it's hurting more."

"You think so?"

Harry nodded.

"Dumbledore thinks it'll get worse until you can stop him, when it should stop."

"And you agree with him?"

Harry looked at him curiously. In the past Neville would have taken Dumbledore's word as gospel, now it was Harry he was looking to for answers.

"I do," said Harry softly.

They spent another long while in silence and then Neville looked at him.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "I know you weren't in detention, you don't get them."

"I do too," laughed Harry. "Snape loves giving me them."

"Yeah well I know you weren't there either," said Neville. "The Twins were with him and they have no idea where you were and I saw Luna go up to her dormitory, so I know you weren't with her."

"Who says she was alone?" asked Harry with a smirk.

"Your invisibility cloak," replied Neville, his voice clouded with contemplation for a moment. "No, she wasn't smiling and she always smiles when she's with you."

Harry appraised Neville with a sideways glance.

"Very astute, Neville."

"Don't think you can distract me that easily," he snorted.

"Okay, okay. I was having tea with Umbridge," admitted Harry.

"Oh pull the other one," said Neville, suddenly laughing.

"I'm serious," protested Harry. "She wanted to talk me into betraying Dumbledore."

Neville began to laugh so hard Harry was momentarily afraid he'd fall off the end of the bed.

"Is she mental?" he asked and Harry smiled too.

"Pretty much. She hates Dumbledore y'know."

"And me," replied Neville, his mood instantly darkening.

"You shouldn't aggravate her so much," said Harry. "I saw your detention in your mind. Stop putting yourself in that position."

Neville shrugged and looked down at his hands, one of which read in very faint white lines 'I must not tell lies.'

Harry frowned slightly and then his expression clearing, produced his wand. With a deft little spin between his fingers, he tapped the back of Neville's hand and the lines were removed, as though someone had swept them away. Neville gazed up at Harry in equal amounts of surprise and gratitude. Harry merely winked, spun his wand again and blew the tip, before returning it to his pocket.

"Thanks," said Neville.

"No problem Neville," replied Harry, rising from the bed. "Try and get some sleep."

"You should get some sleep too," said Neville behind him, breaking him from his reverie. "You've got quidditch practice tomorrow."

Harry groaned. Angelina was even worse than Wood in regards to training. He'd be woken up at the crack of dawn, no doubt. For a moment, the beguiling thought of sleep almost persuaded him to go straight to bed.

Instead he stepped over to the open window and gazed out at the full moon that hung in the sky. For the longest time he'd been wracked with guilt every time he stared at its face. Remus Lupin, the bravest man he'd ever known, the man he'd accidentally killed, would forever be inextricably linked with the full moon in his mind.

But now as he stared at it, it was not Lupin's mask of surprise as he died that sprang to mind, but the pale beautiful face of Luna. Harry smiled slightly as he imagined what she might be doing now; sitting in her own window, staring up at the moon and thinking of crumple-horned snorkacks.


	7. Prophecy

**CONLAODH'S SONG  
Chapter Seven: Prophecy**

The fire crackled in the hearth, bathing the room in its flickering orange warmth. Harry, sitting just inside the circle of illumination the fire provided, rested contentedly on the back of the chair, his bare feet perched on a low stool before him and the most serene of smiles graced his lips. The aromatic odours of freshly baked bread and simmering broth were all pervasive and glorious. He had chosen a room close to the kitchens for these very reasons; the smells would distract and relax him and he needed this for his purpose.

In his hand he held a small crystal orb which gleamed in the flickering firelight, the perfect surface reflecting the light around the room. Inside the orb, smoke in a thousand shades of grey danced. Harry closed his eyes, the motion slow and deliberate. With the slightest effort, the slightest thought on his behalf, the fire began to die away until he was left in gathering gloom. When the final embers were extinguished, the room was pitch black, silent and still.

He sat alone for several minutes in the darkness, allowing his regular breathing to lull him into a state of relaxation. As he waited he listened to the sounds around him; the final shifting of the cooling embers, the sound of his own breath, the distant sounds of the castle, the clamour of the house elves. One by one he filtered these things from his consciousness until he could hear the slow rhythmic beat of his own heart in his ears.

"Conlaodh," he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, in an attempt to avoid breaking the atmosphere.

He felt the orb warm in his hand suddenly and he allowed his eyelids to part slowly. At the centre of the crystal ball there was now a flame that pulsated and danced among the smoke, the light throwing patterns on the walls. For a moment, Harry merely sat and watched the unusual patterns flow across the stone.

Then again, as he had with the fire, he reached out that indeterminable part of his will and began to nudge the patterns into shapes. At first they were crude; rough geometric shapes that floated around him for seconds before dissolving once more into nothingness, but the longer he concentrated, the more effort he siphoned into the process, the more wondrous and complex they became.

Soon trees rustled silently in fictitious winds, their boughs swaying, only for a branch to snap away and fall into what became a river that meandered across two walls where it ended its journey as a galloping horse. For a moment longer, Harry contented himself with improving the detail of each new scene. Then when he was happy with his current level of control, he allowed himself to reach into a deep part of his mind that he seldom used for fear of what lurked there.

The complicated scenes fell away, as he'd known they would. He did not have the level of control that would have allowed him to manipulate the smoke with that level of detail as well as maintain his other talent. So he settled for somewhere between the two.

His complex scenes of animation and beauty fell away to more rudimentary, but vivid images that flowed around him on the walls and ceiling in a spiral; they moved so fast that there was no chance for Harry to consciously follow them. Though this didn't matter in the slightest.

When the images had reached the peak of their acceleration, Harry allowed trance to creep over him once more and the madly spiralling images coalesced into something that wasn't quite understandable, but neither was it unintelligible. For a moment, Harry steeled himself for what was to come and then with a sharp exhale of breath, allowed himself to fall with the images, spiralling out of control, around and round, wilder and wilder until he was, in mind if not body, a mere blur of light on the wall.

What happened next was always painful, so he took a deep breath to prepare himself for the inevitable and allowed the images to take him with them. He found himself abruptly wrenched from his body and, as it felt to him, flung viciously across the galaxy at astronomical speed. Each part of his consciousness being torn away, until he was left with only the darkness inside him and his will which desperately battled to retain his humanity.

Then as violently as he'd been flung across space and through time, he stopped. For a moment, Harry kept his eyes closed, trying to force away the dizziness and nausea. Around him was the deathliest silence he'd ever heard, there was nothing here, not the sound of the wind, not the soft palpitations of his own heart. It was not an easy silence, but one so bereft of life and love and joy that it chilled Harry to his very soul.

Then, resigned to the even greater pain that was about to follow, he opened his eyes.

What happened next, what always happened next, Harry could only describe in one way. There was a huge wrench somewhere inside him, as though his entire consciousness had been seized like a hook on a line and turned inside out. For that perilous few moments, the laws of time no longer applied, he was everywhere and nowhere, he was everything and nothing, he was mighty and he was tiny. It took less than a second, but for Harry it seemed like eternity.

_A pearlescent drop of water hung in midair, spilled from the vase that was frozen in time on its trajectory toward the ground from its perch on a large oaken chest. High above the chandelier, bright with magical candles, was slightly tilted as though caught in a strong breeze. The green floral rug that stretched along the corridor was stained by something dark and red that pooled around the feet of a suit of armour where the stone floor met the walls._

_On one side of the corridor a tapestry had been torn from its hanging, leaving several deep crimson threads in its wake. The tapestry itself lay over a slumped figure, hiding everything but a familiar, pale, freckled face and a vibrant shock of red hair. _

_Ron Weasley lay crumpled beneath the tapestry, his eyes closed and an expression of deep serenity on his face. His lips had turned the slightest shade of blue and were parted. Two feet away his wand lay, snapped and discarded in the shadows cast by three hulking but indistinct creatures that prowled along the corridor toward him. Their malevolent red eyes alight in the sea of indiscernible darkness._

_Standing between the creatures and Ron was Severus Snape, a snarl etched on to his sallow features. A jet of acidic green light blossoming from the tip of his wand highlighted the lines of his face in severe contrasts and illuminated his eyes, betraying the subtle terror that lingered within them. _

_The all pervasive sour odour of death that was unique to the killing curse hung in the corridor, black magic's pungent smell was also present betraying Snape's choice of arsenal against the creatures. However, beneath these masks was the slightest scent of stale, antediluvian air. The smell of creatures and magic long ago lost to the world. The smell of Old Things. _

Harry returned abruptly to reality with a scream, his head aching furiously. He lifted his fingers to his eyes and wiped away the blood he was weeping and blinked furiously. He dropped his head and began to think at a frantic pace, he only had moments to divine the meaning of the vision before he was sucked back into the void.

As the fall of the tapestry hid Ron's wound from him and his eyes were closed, Harry couldn't tell if the boy had been dead or merely unconscious in his vision. There were two details that worried him far more than the blood; Snape's fear and the level of dark magic the man was using betrayed the sinister nature of the creatures he was facing.

Worse still was the odour of the monstrosities. Only Voldemort could have sent the creatures, it meant the Dark Lord was getting a firmer grip on the Old World and this terrified Harry.

The second vision was preceded by the sound of rushing wind inside his ears and an itch that covered his entire body. For a moment he clung desperately to his body, his mind still focused on the content of the other vision before he was dragged back to the void.

_The darkness was thick and cloying and omnipresent. It stretched in all directions, unbroken by even the slightest flicker of light. It was oppressive, terrifying and alive. It rustled and whispered in harsh tones that seemed to go on forever. _

_But a falling light appeared in the dark, as if a match had been struck and sheltered against the wind before being dropped to the ground. As the light increased in intensity, a single note rang out in the darkness; the low mournful croon of a phoenix. _

_At the centre of the light a thin girl lay horizontal in the darkness. She fell spread eagle through the air, her beautiful blonde hair rose around her as she fell and her right arm dangled slightly below the level of her body as though she were being dragged down into the darkness. _

_Her lips, normally soft, full and pink were drawn thin and stained crimson. Her usually glittering pale blue eyes were heavy lidded and clouded. Her face held none of her usual excitement, her passion for life; instead it was tight and perturbed. _

_There was a serenity about her too, despite her pained expression. A bliss at the centre of her that was impregnable. A bliss that had not been harmed when her mother had tragically died, a bliss that had not been tarnished by years of cruel jokes, a bliss that was not damaged by this._

Again Harry returned to reality and this time he put his head in his hands and drew a long rattling breath. This time he allowed the blood to drip into palms and momentarily he teetered on the brink of emotional and physical exhaustion. In those few seconds he was prepared to just give in to the void, to allow his third vision to come and strip everything human about him away, to leave him an empty shell and to spend eternity floating amongst the stars.

Then he gathered himself together as the rushing wind returned to his ears, stronger this time and as his clothes tightened painfully around him, constricting his breath and then with an explosion of colour—

_The kitchen was unfamiliar; clean but untidy it was far flung from the pristine kitchen kept at Privet Drive but held a homely air that reminded him strongly of the Burrow. The counters were lined with a variety of muggle electronic goods; toasters, electric ovens, blenders and even a microwave, all gleaming white despite the debris that covered the surfaces. _

_Several well thumbed newspapers, a littering of dirty mugs, a dog's chew toy and an open loaf of bread lay around them. A kettle stood at the back of an electric stove, whistling gently as the water inside crept toward its boiling point._

_Harry, his face slightly more mature but who couldn't have been more than twenty, sat at the kitchen table. His feet were propped up on the edge of the table and were clad in well-worn slippers. A plate of buttered toast lay in his lap, partially obscuring another paper that was draped across his legs._

_A piece of his toast was frozen in his hand, midway to his mouth but his eyes were firmly glued to the paper's small print. The photos in the paper featured stuffy looking men in well cut suits and handsome football players smiling off the page._

_The expression on Harry's face was one of utter contentment. Even in the process of swallowing a piece of toast there was a smile on his lips, which were utterly unmarred by the scar that Sirius Black had once given him. It appeared to have vanished without a trace. _

_Indeed his face was handsome and unspoiled; his eyes were a dark hazel and glittered slightly in the early morning sun that cascaded through the open window. Outside an unfamiliar city unfolded for miles, a combination of drab concrete apartment buildings and towering glass skyscrapers. _

_Alone in his kitchen, with his plate of toast and muggle newspaper, Harry Potter was blissful. _

A moment later Harry found himself back in the chair in the room; the fire had once more burst into flames and the crystal ball was shattered in a thousand pieces across the floor. His head rung with a pain as though it had been cleft in two and blood ran freely down his face, adding to the disorientation.

For a while he sat, on the brink of being sick, his head spinning and aching, his entire body protesting at the experience it had just endured. Then abruptly, all of these feelings drained away as though the entire experience had never occurred. Regardless, Harry sat with his head in his hands for a long time after, trying to make sense of the troubling visions he'd just experienced.

They had come in triplet again. His predictions always came in this manner; a vivid scene followed by a symbolic scene followed by something that was invariably a glimpse of a far-flung and unlikely future. The first was invariably dark and catastrophic. The second abstract and signified a choice he'd make. The third Harry had long suspected to be flawed in some way, for the images were rarely coherent.

The first time he'd summoned the visions at the beginning of his third year he'd done so by burning a mixture of lavender, salvia and hemlock and taking several deep lungfuls of the noxious smoke that poured off it.

It was, in all admission, not the most sensible thing he'd ever done. It had half killed him and that had been exactly the point. The theory Harry had prescribed himself to was that the further detached you are from your physical body, the more susceptible you become to the millions of discrepancies in the flow of time. The more attuned you were to sensing the little frayed ends of time that drifted backwards.

He had assumed, correctly as it happened, that death was the furthest you could possibly get from your physical self and the closer you got to death, the better it would work. It worked perfectly, though despite arranging for a house elf to immediately transport him to the hospital wing, he had been circling the drain for sometime after and had remained bedridden for two weeks.

His first vision had been of Hermione's funeral, though he hadn't known it at the time. Three onyx cars parked ominously at a graveside, a handful of mourners dressed in black surrounding it. The narrow, uninscribed gravestone at the head. The second had been of Sirius Black's handsome face broken by a careless laugh. The exactly careless laugh he'd made when splitting Harry's face open with a curse.

The third and final had shown Harry hand in hand with someone who he unmistakeably recognised as Lord Voldemort, leaping over a low stone wall. At the time, this had both confused and disgusted Harry in equal measure. He had instinctively recognised Lord Voldemort in his third year for the striking resemblances to the Tom Riddle he'd met in his second, though his face was far less human. Now having met Voldemort in the flesh, Harry recognised that it was indeed the opposite; the Voldemort in his vision was far more human than the snake-faced creature that had climbed from the cauldron.

The second trio of visions had come after his duel with Sirius; Harry had been able to fight off the older and more experienced wizard, mostly Harry suspected, through sheer determination and the fact that he hadn't spent thirteen years holed up in Azkaban. However though the wizard had fled, Harry had suffered some critical wounds, the least of which was on his face and for days had hovered between life and death.

This time, it was not a conscious decision Harry made to seek out these visions, but merely how his body and mind instinctively reacted to finding itself between worlds. He had once again seen three images; his duel with Voldemort in the graveyard, Neville unconscious on the floor nearby.

The second had been of Neville, alone in a forest clearing, was resting on one knee, his hand on the hilt of an upright sword that had been pushed into the ground, his face hideously and grotesquely marred. The corpses of dispatched warriors littered the ground around him and his sword ran thick with the ichor of the dead.

The third was even more alien to Harry than any of the other visions he'd experienced. He stood in what appeared to be the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The fountain's magical brethren had leapt from their golden plinths and were fighting around the room; the witch holding the wizard in a headlock, the centaur in full gallop around the outside of the room, vast golden arrow notched on his equally vast bow and a goblin and house elf rolling around on the floor mid-struggle.

At the centre of this carnage, however, were Voldemort and Harry with their wands drawn. Harry was in a typical duelling pose, his arm levelled at Voldemort's chest, intent written plainly on his face. Voldemort however, had his wand lowered. Indeed, he was bowing deeply and as far as Harry could tell, sincerely, to his opponent. There was something more to the bow though than mere formality, for the emotions rolling in waves off Voldemort were gratitude and servitude.

This vision along with its earlier counterpart disturbed Harry more than any of the others. He could see no possible situation in which he were anything but diametrically opposed to Voldemort, could not conceive of any moment in which he would want Voldemort to bow to him much less feel anything human toward him.

Harry shuddered, despite the warmth of the fire and realised that he'd spent the better part of an hour staring moodily into the depths of the fire, trying to make some sense of the unintelligible. He moved his legs restlessly, trying to coax some feeling back in to them. When he finally rose from the chair, his legs felt odd, as though they were only tenuously connected to his brain.

He rounded the armchair with difficulty, his mind split between keeping control of his errant legs and solving the puzzle his visions provided. It was for this reason that he didn't notice the rooms other inhabitant for whole seconds.

Albus Dumbledore sat in an identical armchair to the one Harry had just vacated, one leg folded over the other, his long beard tucked into his belt and a twinkle in his eye. Harry almost collapsed with shock.

"P-Professor," he stammered, clutching his chest. He hastily turned the armchair and sat down again, his heart pounding energetically in shock. "How long have you been there?"

Dumbledore smiled apologetically.

"For quite some time, I'm afraid," he replied, ill-disguised annoyance in his voice. "I ought to have announced myself perhaps, but I felt the shock might do you good."

A steely note crept into Dumbledore's tone toward the end of his sentence and Harry couldn't help but feel his stomach fall away at the sound. Harry had only heard him use the tone once before, after the first time he'd attempted to utilize the visions.

"I have warned you once before, Harry," continued Dumbledore, a severe expression on his face. "There are some things you ought not to pursue alone and some you ought not to pursue at all."

"I would have asked you," said Harry hurriedly. "But I thought you'd say that I wasn't ready."

"For good reason," snapped Dumbledore, sounding angrier than Harry had ever heard. "I agreed to teach you astral projection on the express order that you did as I said and did not act before you were ready."

In spite of himself, Harry felt his own temper rising.

"Well did I manage it or not?" he said angrily.

"What you achieved is neither here nor there," Dumbledore replied, visibly frustrated. "I made it plain my feeling on the matter and you flaunted my order."

"It's none of your concern what I do or don't do!" roared Harry, rising to his feet. "Who are you to tell me what I can or can't do?"

"Sit down you foolish little boy," replied Dumbledore with such vitriol that Harry's mouth automatically snapped shut.

For a moment, Harry swayed as though he'd been punched. It was almost absurd to see Dumbledore anything other than calm, beyond reason to see anything of the emotion that he knew bubbled away beneath the surface. Harry gaped at him for a moment and then abruptly sat with his head in his hands. His stomach seemed to be making an attempt to escape through his mouth and despite himself; hot tears of frustration and hurt prickled the back of his eyes. He blinked them furiously away.

When he looked up again, Dumbledore too had his head in his hands. Weariness lined every part of his body and when he met Harry's eyes again, he saw only sadness.

"I'm sorry," whispered Harry, not trusting himself to speak any louder.

"As am I," replied Dumbledore softly. "I should not have spoken to you as I did."

A long moment of awkward silence stretched between them during which they both clearly struggled for words. Dumbledore broke the silence seconds before Harry.

"It is time I spoke plainly," he announced and drew himself up, Harry couldn't help, but notice how old he looked as the firelight caught his face. "I owe you that much."

Silence reigned between them again, for so long that Harry wondered if he'd heard Dumbledore correctly or perhaps misunderstood him. But eventually the headmaster spoke again.

"When I first truly met you for the first time you were a twelve-year old boy that had descended into the Chamber of Secrets to face the darkest foes imaginable and emerged victorious. And I must admit I was terrified. You have, as I often say, the greatest potential I have seen in a wizard

"It should not surprise you that it enthused me to have a wizard of your ability so close at hand. You were perfect; inherently opposed to everything I myself stood against, willing to lay your life on the line to defend those weaker than yourself and clamouring for any guidance you could get.

"Yet it also terrified me. I have told you about my quest for the Hallows and the terrible consequences. Even I was not arrogant enough to believe that I could hold your ear and loyalty forever. But what choice did I have? You needed teaching and if I wouldn't, I knew there would be a hundred far less scrupulous people more than willing.

"No, I decided, it would be far better if I taught you and I was prepared to nudge you in the right direction if I thought it necessary. Of course, it never did. You, the child who descended into the bowels of the earth have done so six times since and each time acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams.

"Sirius Black, the Dragon, the Lake, the Maze, the Graveyard, the Plain of Delight," Dumbledore checked them off on his fingers. "Each feat was incredible and each outshone the next. You have proved yourself as one of the most illustrious students to grace the halls of Hogwarts and you are without doubt the greatest wizard I've had the pleasure of teaching.

"This may have had the minor side effect of building upon an already inflated ego," continued Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye, Harry found a smile on his lips despite himself. "But never had someone so young so thoroughly deserved one. Nevertheless, each time I was ecstatic with your progress, with your fierce loyalty to Neville and everything he stood for.

"Yet, something occurred that changed everything, something I had never in my wildest dreams expected. Despite all of my best efforts I began to care for you. I began to enjoy our lessons not for the joy of teaching someone so able, but for the joy of being around you."

Dumbledore broke off for a moment and looked down at his steepled hands.

"What I am trying to say, in my curiously inefficient way, is that if I order you to do something, it will only ever be in your best interest. Some day our partnership will be one of equals and friends, but for now at least, you must accept that I am far more experienced in these matters than you."

Harry suddenly found himself unable to meet Dumbledore's eyes, so he stared at the floor instead.

"I do know that," replied Harry in a gruff tone. "It's just; I once had the choice to save Remus, possibly even Hermione. I foresaw the choice and I was too stupid to work it out. I-"

He faltered momentarily and Dumbledore looked sympathetically on at him.

"Don't want to run the same risk with Miss Lovegood?" he asked gently and Harry nodded. "Understandable."

For a long moment they sat in silence before Dumbledore abruptly sniffed the air. The delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Harry glanced at his watch and was amazed to find it was half past six in the morning.

"The house elves really do out do themselves sometimes," Dumbledore announced with a wink at Harry. "Come Harry, we can take breakfast in my office and discuss these visions of yours."

At the mention of the visions, something in Harry's head clicked into position and unfolded before him. He couldn't stop himself from gasping. Dumbledore gave him a curious look.

"Professor, Hogwarts is going to be attacked," said Harry quickly, his eyes wide with alarm. "And I'm certain I know who!"

**A/N: I know, I said I wouldn't write them, but I lied. I want to make a simple request; if you liked my stories, go to my C2 and ****SUBSCRIBE. **There's an awful lot of talented but unappreciated authors in there. It'd do all of us a huge favour.


	8. Time's Silver Arrow

******CONLAODH'S SONG**  
Chapter Eight: Time's Silver Arrow

As Harry sat in the darkness and waited, the invisibility cloak propped over his head and his legs numb from his long period of time huddled in an unobtrusive corner, he couldn't help but wish that he'd managed to retain the sense that he must have, long ago, possessed. He couldn't for the life of him comprehend why he was waiting in this cold, dank dungeon for the last person in the world that he wanted to see in a dark corridor late at night.

Despite Dumbledore's utmost assurances that Malfoy would be watched and his insistence that Harry leave his classmate alone, Harry had found it almost impossible to let his own investigations slide. According to the map, there was nothing on the seventh floor and even Dumbledore had expressed concern over the odd magic that lingered there. Yet the headmaster hadn't appeared to have done anything and had certainly not confided any action he may have taken to Harry.

It was utterly frustrating. Harry didn't like being left out of the loop, but Dumbledore had always been most insistent that Harry wasn't involved in the day to day running of the school further than his prefect responsibilities entailed. That included, by Dumbledore's reckoning, the private actions of his peers.

Indeed his claims that Draco was not acting under his own volition and instead under the orders of Voldemort had not persuaded the headmaster otherwise. Likewise, with the map now in Dumbledore's possession and his express instructions for Harry to remain well away from the seventh floor corridor left Harry with little to work with. Instead he had to content himself with keeping a close eye on Malfoy's condition when he saw him during the day, which was of little comfort to Harry.

Though, for what it was worth, Malfoy often looked far more miserable and frustrated than Harry, which usually cheered him up slightly.

Nothing more had come of Harry's earlier run in, which either meant that if Malfoy had made a complaint, it had been ignored, or far more likely, Malfoy had little desire to garner further attention.

This suited Harry, he'd already told Dumbledore of their confrontation and despite his concern about Harry's loss of temper and Draco's propensity toward dark magic, hadn't sought to discipline him. Harry had no desire for further confrontation with the Headmaster this week, or ever, if at all possible.

Harry had thought that the quiet disappointment that Dumbledore often showed when Harry crossed him was the worst feeling in the world. But somehow his usually calm way of handling Harry's mistakes made the headmaster's ire all the more terrible to experience. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

With his options for dealing with Malfoy so limited, Harry had decided to turn his attention elsewhere. Partly for the sake of his own sanity and partly because if Dumbledore was not as infallible as he appeared, it would be nice to have some contingency in place. He found it hard to shake off the worry that some of his previous visions had come true, regardless of the precautions he put in place to prevent them.

To this end, he'd decided to intervene on Ron's behalf. Wherever Harry had been at the time of Ron's apparent need, he hadn't been there. That meant he had to focus on one of two people. He could either aid Snape on Ron's behalf, which would require some subtle maneuvering and that was unfeasible without much more time than Harry had. Or he could go directly to the source and teach Ron how to defend himself.

Thankfully, what he'd said to Ron a few short weeks ago seemed to have had an incredible effect on the boy. Where as in first year he'd gotten by on his able talent and Hermione's help, the boy had thrown himself into working this term. According to the twins, who'd passed on some news from their mother, Ron had placed top of all his class tests so far and was advancing well beyond what was required.

Indeed Harry had observed him several times working furiously in abandoned classrooms. Not just learning new spells but reading complicated textbooks on the theory of magic. The same textbooks Harry had read in third and fourth year. It gave Harry a little touch of pride to see the boy working so hard. He suspected by Christmas, if he was able to keep up his current rate of study, he'd be able to join the third years. An incredible feat for any fledgling wizard.

Yet Ron was not the only one who'd taken it upon himself to work hard. Neville, who until the beginning of his fourth year had easily sailed through on nothing other than his reasonable intellect and very little work, had suddenly began to apply himself furiously. Not to traditional magic, as Ron had, but to old magic and to Harry's immense gratification, occlumency.

Luckily he had little to fear from Umbridge at the moment, she seemed to have lessened her furious campaign against Dumbledore after their little conversation, apparently mollified by the fact that she possessed a willing ally in Harry. This gave Harry plenty of time to tutor Neville, as well as provide some subtle poking for Ron.

The youngest Weasley boy had proved himself as stubborn as Harry could remember and every time he'd attempted to broach the subject of actually teaching him anything directly, he'd been politely but flatly refused. Instead Harry had begun to leave textbooks lying around for Ron to see. He wouldn't take them directly, but it would at least give him some titles to push him in the right direction when he was stuck with a particular problem.

All in all, Harry was satisfied with the progress from both of them. More so if he could encourage Neville to actually engage with his school work.

But even despite these distractions, despite Dumbledore's reassurances, despite Malfoy's permanently dismayed expression, Harry couldn't help but let Draco's actions weigh heavily on his mind. Something was coming and if Voldemort had any hand in it, it was nothing either of them would be able to predict.

For it was not Draco Malfoy who worried him particularly, Harry had little to fear from a boy his own age with little in terms of magical talent or reading. No, it was Voldemort that worried Harry. Despite the brave face Harry had always donned when facing him, Voldemort was one of the few things that honestly terrified Harry.

This was not a source of embarrassment for him, any wizard or witch that had the vaguest inkling of what Voldemort was capable of was terrified of him. Most were too scared to even utter his name. Only Albus Dumbledore remained immune to the aura of fear that the Dark Lord wore like a cloak and in any case, Harry often considered his mentor's sanity suspect.

Finally, with a relief that came after waiting many hours, he head the slight footfalls that indicated the approach of his target. Indeed, his footsteps and the swish of his cloak along the ground were audible long before he emerged out of the gloom of the corridor. He moved in the darkness, almost as invisibly as Harry could with his cloak, without candle or wandlight to aid his eyes. Harry often wondered if he could exist without his eyes at all and merely smell his way around the castle, that huge hooked nose had to be useful somehow.

"Professor," he whispered quietly as Snape passed.

The potions master stopped and whirled immediately, his dark eyes raking up and down the passage furiously.

"Who's there?" he demanded. "Show yourself. If you're a student you're in for a world of trouble."

"Calm down Snivellus, it's me," said Harry, his voice still as quiet as possible.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Potter," he said with an expression of disgust that didn't quite reach his eyes as it once would have.

"I need a word, Professor," said Harry and removed the cloak.

Snape looked at it, momentarily astonished, but then schooled his expression into mild distaste.

"What do you want Potter?" he asked silkily. "Even a prefect shouldn't be here at this hour. I do hope you've got a good excuse."

"Keep your hair on," said Harry with the slightest of smiles, knowing it would annoy the potions master no end. "I've come to save your life."

"Oh, well if that's all," said Snape sarcastically. "Don't be an arse Potter. I've things to do."

He turned on his heel and had taken a couple of steps before Harry called after him.

"Things to do? Brooding in your rooms and fantasizing about my-"

Before he'd managed another word, Snape had pinned him to the wall with one hand and shoved a good inch of his wand up Harry's nose.

"Don't provoke me," hissed Snape from between gritted teeth. "You won't like me when I'm angry."

After a second of staring at each other with heated glares, Snape seemed to come to his senses and released Harry. He looked away and replaced his wand in his robes, suddenly looking, if Harry's imagination wasn't running away from him, sheepish.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I shouldn't have lost my temper," replied Snape, still looking away.

Harry supposed that it was the closest anyone would ever get to an apology out of Snape.

"I was serious though," said Harry. "Your life could be in jeopardy."

"Potter my life is always in jeopardy," snapped Snape, resuming his former prickly self.

"Fine, maybe so. But hear me out, for the sake of my own conscience if nothing else. Call it Potter arrogance if you will."

Snape smiled grimly and seemed to accept this. Harry thought it might have gotten through to him. He nodded to prompt Harry to speak.

"I can't give you any specifics, but what has Dumbledore told you about Draco Malfoy?"

"Nothing," replied Snape sharply, giving Harry a piercing look. "Why?"

Harry groaned and lifted his hand to the bridge of his nose and pinched, wondering for the first time why the Headmaster couldn't ever make his life easy.

"I don't know how much I can tell you without breaking Dumbledore's confidence-"

"Then tell me nothing," snapped Snape.

"I can't," replied Harry, in frustration. "I can't just leave you to face them without any warning."

This appeared to have piqued Snape's curiosity almost as much as his comment about Malfoy had. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry as though he was attempting to divine information from his very skin.

"From who," he asked finally.

Harry made a face.

"What do you know about creatures from the Old World?" asked Harry and momentarily Snape seemed puzzled by his cryptic question, but almost instantly realization dawned upon him. Harry couldn't ever accuse Snape of being slow.

"Not much," admitted Snape.

"I'd do some reading," replied Harry, taking on a suddenly airy expression and tone. "It's quite interesting you know, Temporal Ghouls and the like."

He instantly saw that Snape had understood the message and smiled broadly at the man. He moved to lift his invisibility cloak over his head once more, but Snape stayed his hand at the last moment.

"How do you know?" he asked, a frown on his face.

"I see things," replied Harry.

A sudden smile appeared on Snape's face as though an awful lot of things had just become more clear. He nodded at Harry and released his hand.

"You're a better man than your father," admitted Snape and Harry assumed that this was the closest the man could come to thanking him.

"That's not saying much," replied Harry, throwing his cloak over his head and marveling at the professor's confused expression. "You forget that he abandoned me as a child, Professor. I dislike him almost as much as you do."

With that, he sauntered off down the corridor, leaving a very confused Snape in his wake. He had to get up to the Gryffindor tower and into bed as quickly as possible. He wasn't particularly worried about being out after curfew, if there was one thing an invisibility cloak meant it was that he needn't worry about such trivialities. But he'd have to get at least some sleep before Angelina woke him up for quidditch practice the next day if he didn't want to be on the receiving end of a tongue lashing.

As it turned out, Harry woke up with five minutes to spare and while he wasn't late, Angelina did not look best pleased when he turned up half-clothed and bleary eyed to changing room.

"Nice of you to join us," she said, a cold tone to her voice.

He nodded apologetically and looked around at the familiar faces and the less familiar one at the end of the row. He was of course friendly with Cormac McLaggen, who appeared to have taken up Oliver Wood's position as keeper, but they could hardly be described as firm friends. Nor, as it seemed, would the rest of the team, who utterly ignored McLaggen.

"This is Cormac," said Angelina, as though Harry might not know. "He's our new keeper, as you might know if you'd turned up to try-outs."

"Sorry, Angelina," said Harry hastily. "Dumbledore and I-"

"Yes, yes," said Fred loudly and with a saucy wink. "Nobody wants to know what you and Dumbledore get up to on those cold lonely nights alone in his study."

Everyone in the changing room looked at Fred with equal amounts of horror and shock in their expressions. Even George seemed aghast with his brother.

"What?" asked Fred, now looking quite sheepish. "I was only saying what we were all thinking."

"Let me assure you," said Katie quickly. "Nobody else was thinking that."

Fred looked imploringly to George who just shook his head in mock disgust. Harry, lost for words after the disgusting thought had gotten inside his head, merely turned on his heel, pulling his quidditch robes over his head and stepped out on to the pitch.

"Harry," called Angelina. "We haven't done tactics yet."

"I'm going for a walk," said Harry, his haunted eyes staring out across the pitch but the slightest of grins on his lips. "And I may be some time."

Before he could take another step, Angelina had him by the ear and forced him down on to the bench beside Cormac. The rest of the changing room burst into laughter as Harry sat down and began to extravagantly mime being sick.

"Stop being so melodramatic," snapped Angelina and Harry shot her a grin.

Angelina turned to a large chalkboard on one side of the room. It was the same one that Wood had used to draw his own tactics up and would subsequently spend hours obsessing over before each training session. Harry, among the other members of the team had hoped that it would be confined to the store room now that they were under Angelina's captaincy. Unfortunately, it appeared that she intended to pick up from where Wood had left off.

Two and a half hours later, Harry dropped himself down next to Neville at the Gryffindor table, planning to tuck straight into a large breakfast. Neville on the other hand clearly had other ideas that had nothing to do with letting Harry eat his breakfast in peace.

"You haven't been seeing much of Luna recently," he remarked as Harry bit into a mouthful of eggs and bacon.

"Mmph," said Harry, meaning no, Neville seemed to understand this for he continued.

"You guys fallen out?"

"Mmph," repeated Harry, his eyes on the Daily Prophet next to his plate.

"You worried about the Slytherin game coming up?"

"Mmph."

There was quite an interesting article in the newspaper about Harry's own whitepaper concerning an additional use for Dragon's Blood that neither Dumbledore nor Flamel had considered; as a potent and an easily recognized reagent for calculating the water content of a potion in situations where other ways would be too time consuming or for other reasons infeasible.

There was, as Harry had predicted himself, some discussion over whether this was a legitimate extra use or whether it was it was the re-purposing of one of it's previously defined characteristics. It had even proved to be a divisive issue between himself and Dumbledore as he produced the research. Though Harry suspected that Dumbledore only disagreed because he'd failed to think of it first.

If Neville was even slightly put off by Harry's attitude of noncompliance, he did not show it.

"It's almost Halloween," he said.

"Well observed," replied Harry, putting his fork down and turning the page.

"Are we doing the same as usual this year?"

Harry looked up at him. For the last two years they'd shared a silent drink together one night after Halloween. It was the day after the anniversary of Neville's parent's death and the night before that of his mother. They'd never spoken about it before, it was one of those things that they just did, without having to plan it.

For some reason he felt slightly annoyed with Neville, as though he'd broken the rules somehow by mentioning it. By bringing up Harry's weakness in such a public place. So he didn't respond, but merely nodded and looked back at his paper.

"Y'know it's difficult for me too," said Neville.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Harry, then seeing Neville's expression, he clarified. "Not here."

He seemed to accept this.

"Anyway," said Harry, chasing an errant bean around his plate as he tried to change the subject. "I've not seen Luna recently because I'm not sure where we're going. I've needed some time to think things over."

It wasn't completely true. Though he wasn't sure where he and Luna were going, if he were completely honest, that wasn't why he'd been avoiding her. In reality, ever since he'd seen his visions, he was scared of what would happen if he allowed himself to get too close to her. Dumbledore had been right, he couldn't bear to lose anyone else important to him.

Neville looked at him with a certain amount of concern in his eyes.

"You like her though," he said. "I can see it in the way you look at her, like the way you used to-"

He stopped abruptly and his face fell. Harry dropped his eyes to his plate and stared at it for a long moment before he realized he'd lost his appetite. He put the knife and fork down and drained the last of his tea.

"I'm sorry," said Neville.

"That's okay," said Harry, looking back up at him and trying to smile. "We can't keep pussy-footing around the issue for the rest of our lives. She's dead Neville. Sooner we learn to live with it the better."

Before Neville could say another word, Harry rose from the table and left. As he stepped into the Entrance Hall, he walked straight into Lee Jordan, who grabbed him by the arm, a wide enthusiastic smile on his face.

"Harry, just the man I was looking for," he exclaimed excitedly. "Fred and George sent me, they think they've cracked their week-long dungbomb problem, but they need you to come and hold the enchantment eye open in case they lose control and, in their words, 'take half the tower with us'."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, relieved to have something to do that could take his mind off the conversation he'd just had with Neville.

"Go on then," he said. "Lets go see what trouble they've gotten themselves into now."


	9. The Cassandra Complex

**CONLAODH'S SONG**  
**Chapter Nine: The Cassandra Complex**

Golden sand seeped from one chamber to another in the giant hourglass that stood on the desk between them. It measured not literal time but the odds stacking against them. Harry watched it with quiet worry while Dumbledore merely seemed content to ignore it, his blue eyes examining Harry with something akin to amusement.

"I assure you," said Dumbledore with the slightest of smiles. "Though I would wish to examine your map for other, far more selfish reasons, my agent is more than capable of tailing Mister Malfoy."

Harry sat back in the chair, scrutinizing Dumbledore over the headmaster's desk. Though Dumbledore had made his opinion on the matter very clear, Harry couldn't help but try and persuade the headmaster of the threat Draco posed to the students and press him into taking the matter a little more seriously.

Their disagreement stemmed from the fact that Dumbledore refused to see Draco as a man and wizard in his own right, preferring to consider him as an errant child. Try as he might, Harry wasn't able to convince the headmaster that Draco proved a threat regardless of his age.

Harry leant back in his chair, his frustration momentarily overwhelming his ability to speak. Around him the headmaster's spindly instruments whirred. Harry had long made it his goal to not only understand each instrument's function and how to read them, but also to read them as often as possible and track their progress from day to day.

One, a complicated silver sneak-o-scope designed by the headmaster himself, span slow consistent circles on a golden base and made subtle indications of Draco's lingering plot. Another, a one of a kind dark detector which had been gifted to Dumbledore by a Portuguese dignitary, purred like an engine and told whispers of a lingering dark magic in the castle.

With his temper once again under his control, Harry resumed their conversation.

"Dobby the house elf is not infallible," insisted Harry. "My map is."

"I would not dare deign Dobby as infallible, as his enthusiastic choices of attire would attest," replied Dumbledore. Harry snorted; the headmaster's own choice of clothing could hardly be called understated. He eyed the bumblebee striped robes with raised brows; Dumbledore appeared to ignore this jibe. "But he will almost certainly suffice in the task of trailing of Draco."

"No-" began Harry but stopped at a glance from Dumbledore. The pair had resumed their friendship on the grounds that Harry afforded Dumbledore the respect the venerable wizard deserved. "Sorry. Old habits."

"Quite," replied Dumbledore with a smile. Then rose as though the matter had been resolved. Harry replaced the map in his cloak pocket and also stood, following the headmaster on to the spiral staircase.

"For what it's worth," persisted Harry as they were whisked downward, Dumbledore regarded him patiently. "I respectfully disagree."

"Duly noted," replied Dumbledore, with laughter in his voice. "Now come, I believe you are late for your quidditch practice."

Harry glanced down at his watch and visibly paled; the headmaster was right, he was going to be late again. Not for the first time in his fifteen years he cursed his penchant for biting off far more than he could chew; the cause for his perpetual lateness.

"Oh dear," he said, swallowing. "Katie is going to murder me. I've got to run professor! Bye!"

Without waiting for a response from the Headmaster, Harry took off at a rate of knots along the corridor before hitting the staircase at break-neck speed. Harry found himself taking several stairs at a time; scattering students, dodging teachers and once accidentally bursting through the middle of a ghost Harry suspected might be the Bloody Baron.

"Sorry!" he called back over his shoulder and ran straight into an immovable object with a sickening crunch.

As he crashed to the floor, Harry's first thought was that he'd run into a wall. However when he moved his hand away from his aching forehead, he looked up into the severe face of Professor Snape. The Potions Master brushed what appeared to be fragments of Harry's face off the front of his stone-like robes. A flick of his wand returned them to their natural state.

"I sincerely hope another of your classmates is on fire, Potter," he remarked silkily, straightening his robes. "Or you shall be in a world of trouble."

"Sorry Professor," said Harry, rising unsteadily to his feet. "I'm late for quidditch practice, you see."

"Ah," said Snape, as though this elaborated a great deal, perhaps it did. "I must admit I am slightly gratified to see that you are consistently late and not merely so for my lessons."

"But sir," replied Harry in an offended tone. "I make an extra special effort where your lessons are concerned."

For a moment, Harry thought that this joke had raised the merest hint of a smile on Snape's lips, but it was gone so quickly that Harry couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it.

"Be that as it may. It does not excuse your assault of me. Were I any slower with my wand or less quick-witted, you would have severely injured me."

Snape gave Harry such a vehement look that Harry couldn't look him in the eyes.

"But taking your special circumstances into consideration," continued the potions master. "I shall refrain from assigning detention for the rest of your natural life and merely deduct fifteen points from Gryffindor."

Harry stared blankly at him. Snape's lip curled slightly and he swept past him and up the stairs.

"My special circumstances?" called Harry after him.

"Your blinding stupidity, Potter," replied Snape succinctly and disappeared from sight along the third floor corridor.

"Touché," muttered Harry under his breath.

As a result of his conversations with both Dumbledore and Snape, Harry found himself almost ten minutes late for Quidditch practice, something excusable by most people's standards, but apparently unforgivable by Katie Bell's.

"Harry Potter!" she shrieked, her face drawn and angry. "Explain yourself!"

"Snape," said Harry flippantly, by way of reply.

Katie's expression instantly morphed from reproach to sympathy.

"Is he still riding you?" she asked. "I heard he took points for you saving another student's life."

"You know what he's like," replied Harry, aware that he was milking their well known, but almost entirely fictitious antagonism.

"Alright," relented Katie. "I was going to make you run laps, but as you didn't really have much choice-"

She left it to hang between them and Harry gratefully hopped on his broom. Running laps was torment, not because of the physical exercise, but because she always gave the Weasley twins free reign with the bludgers and they never showed the slightest bit of sympathy. Harry knew this first hand.

Yet Harry couldn't exactly begrudge Katie's slightly psychotic enthusiasm; tomorrow they'd play Slytherin in the first quidditch game of the season and Harry was almost as desperate as Katie to beat them. If only to see the expression on Malfoy's face as he plucked the snitch out of the air.

It was long standing tradition that who ever won the first game of the year would be favourites to take the cup. It was rare that anyone other than Slytherin and Gryffindor took the cup anyway and a decisive victory here would almost definitely put them as front runners to win.

But not even Harry's enthusiasm for victory was enough to appreciate the three hours of gruelling drills that she forced upon them. Indeed if the sun hadn't begun to set and exhaustion descend on each player like a heavy blanket, he imagined she would have forced them to work even harder. If they couldn't beat Slytherin tomorrow after this much work, they never would.

It was only after practice; on the way past the Great Hall that he belatedly remembered he was supposed to be meeting Professor Umbridge tonight for another one of their 'little chats'. With a sigh, he straightened his tie and begrudgingly set off in the direction of the High Inquisitor's office.

Umbridge had, suddenly and dramatically, reversed her approach to Harry. After leaving him alone for quite some time, she'd begun to demand his presence in her office as much as she could without raising suspicion.

It didn't take him nearly as long to reach the bottom of her spiral staircase as he'd have liked. Nor, despite his best efforts, was he late as he knocked on her heavy wooden door and heard the prim command to enter.

With a heavy heart he entered the room, refused her usual offer of tea, slung his robes over the back of a chair and sat on the other side of her desk, facing her with a neutral expression. Her smile managed to be both predatory and sickly sweet, but she said nothing.

Harry leant back in his chair and looked around him at the High Inquisitor's office. It was a stark contrast to the same room Lupin had occupied during his tenure here. Then the room had always sounded like a zoo; full of strange creatures and noises, now only the tick of the clock's swinging pendulum and the smack of Umbridge's lips against her teacup broke the room's silence.

This was the third time this week he'd been invited up to her office to share tea and chat about his future with the Ministry. By now, Harry was thoroughly sick of pink silk and frills, although the chats were not as distasteful to him as he would have liked.

The first time he'd been invited up, Dumbledore had repeated the memory charm upon him but it soon became apparent that she no longer intended to dose him with Veritaserum, so they abandoned the practice. Indeed, it didn't appear as though Umbridge had any ulterior motives for these visits for she didn't attempt to wheedle information out of him nor did she make any credible attempts to turn him against Dumbledore.

Whether she actually enjoyed his company or if she were just trying to instil loyalty into him and prime him for the right moment, Harry wasn't entirely sure. Either way, she talked openly and honestly to him about a great many things; the responsibilities of her High Inquisitor's position, the thickness of cauldron bottoms and the Ministry's projected spending patterns were only some of the many matters they discussed.

Strangely, Harry found himself with interesting things to say regarding each and every topic she broached and several times she assured Harry that she would put some of his better ideas to Fudge. Even more bizarre was that Harry couldn't help but enjoy their conversations; though Umbridge was a vile and repugnant woman, Harry found he had a head for the intricacies of law and policy.

Today however their conversation had been terse and mostly one sided. Umbridge had been oddly quiet, so much so that at first Harry had thought her troubled by other matters. Yet there were no external signs of any frustration or contemplation. Instead she merely examined Harry over the top of her teacup; sipping and staring.

Eventually, after several long and unnerving moments, she broke the silence.

"Tell me Harry, do you resent our presence here?" she asked.

"I don't know quite what you mean, Professor," replied Harry.

She smiled her usual sickly sweet smile that never failed to make Harry cringe and leant forward slightly. Her eyes gleamed, not with malice as Harry had so often seen them, but with an odd, somehow equally vile, humour.

"Come, come Harry," she said. "Dolores, please."

Harry nodded.

"As you wish," he replied. "I don't know quite what you mean, Dolores."

She leant back but the smile didn't leave her lips, nor did she lose the humour in her eyes. She waved her hand.

"The Ministry interfering in your school. My teaching of this subject. Our meddling with Dumbledore's plans."

"I resent you feeding me Veritaserum," replied Harry, before he could stop himself, Umbridge on the other hand giggled and Harry's intestines writhed.

"Very clever," she said. "How long did it take you to work that out?"

"Weeks," lied Harry easily. "I'd heard of it, of course, and I knew something had happened in this office but I didn't make the connection for quite some time."

"I hope you can forgive me Harry," she said wheedlingly. "I needed to know the truth; I needed to know how far Dumbledore had got his claws into you. Knowing that I can trust you, the greatest wizard of your generation, it puts my mind at ease."

Harry nodded.

"You revealed him to me for what he is; a manipulator. I can hardly hold that against you Dolores," he said, Umbridge gave him another cringe inducing smile. "As for the Ministry, I understand your involvement here at Hogwarts, but I can't help but feel there are greater issues you ought to be tackling. Sirius Black remains at large and the Ministry doesn't seem to be devoting much effort to apprehend him."

Umbridge regarded Harry with sharp eyes, then leant back in her chair once more and finished her cup of tea with obvious relish. Finally she nodded her agreement with Harry's statement.

"I agree," she admitted. "I won't pretend to understand the Minister's intentions regarding the fugitive Black, he's only allocated Kingsley Shacklebolt to his re-capture and he doesn't seem to be making much progress. I keep telling him Barty Crouch would be a far better choice; his son is almost certainly with Black, who better to track them both?"

"But Crouch was deceived by his son before," replied Harry with a shrug. "For years Barty Junior was one of the Dark Lord's most faithful and his father, who was running the DMLE, was completely unaware of it."

"That's true," said Umbridge, her voice clouded by thought. "Perhaps that's what's behind the Minister's intentions."

"Not to mention," continued Harry, surprised to find himself suddenly defending Fudge. "That Auror Moody, one of the best the Ministry ever had, was captured and imprisoned by Barty Crouch Junior. The only aurors who even slightly compares to him are Shacklebolt, Dawlish and Proudfoot. The Minister can't utilize all three without leaving himself defenceless."

Umbridge gave him a strange look, perhaps momentarily shocked by his astute observation, or even surprised she too hadn't come to the same conclusion. Eventually a wide, genuine smile spread across her face, the first Harry thought he'd ever seen.

"You've a brilliant political mind, Harry," she said, tapping her cup with her wand to clean it and send it back to its place above the mantelpiece. "I wish more students had your disposition."

Harry understood the hidden meaning of her words and smiled.

"They'll come around," he said. "They're not used to change and they've had years for Dumbledore's ways to sink in. When they see what you're truly offering, they'll change their opinions on the matter."

"I hope so," she said and rose from her seat, crossing the room to stare out of the window and across the grounds. "I find it difficult to empathise with them, but I really am here for their benefit. I really just want to protect them."

Harry stared at her back and realised with a jolt of shock that she was telling the truth; although her first loyalty was to the Minister and everything he represented, she really thought she was here to protect the students from what she perceived as a threat. It was a pity she was so misguided.

She turned back to face Harry.

"I loved this school," she said, crossing the room to sit back in her seat. "When I was a student here, I mean. I found it hard to make friends, but I found solace in the grounds itself, it's a truly beautiful place, don't you think?"

"Yes," replied Harry and a wistful smile crept on to his lips as he thought of the rolling hills and crimson winter sunsets. "I do."

"I'm not the most talented of witches," continued Umbridge. "I'm not embarrassed to admit it. Everything I've achieved I've done so with hard work and perseverance, I'm proud of that. But my ambition and hard work have never won me many friends, even at the Ministry."

She didn't meet Harry's eyes now, but gazed over his head, a distant look on her face. Eventually she looked back down at him and smiled. There was no false sweetness in this one, no vile humour, just a smile. Harry couldn't help but feel some empathy toward her.

"I'm glad we understand each other, Harry," she said, her voice quiet and hoarse. "There aren't many people like us left in the world."

Harry excused himself as soon as it was polite, backing into the corridor and thanking her for the chat. The moment he was alone he allowed himself to shudder in disgust. He returned to his dormitory in a state of deep anxiety. For as much as he vehemently disliked Umbridge and everything she stood for, he couldn't prevent the growing sympathy he felt for her, as much as he might fight it.

Despite the woman's inherent shallow repulsiveness, there was something much deeper to her character; a hideous defensive mask built over years of loneliness and self consciousness. He couldn't help but wonder if she was who he'd have become if he'd retained his isolation from first year, if he hadn't allowed himself to form human attachments.

The thought that he might have become that petty, vile and obsessive made Harry's blood run cold as he climbed into bed that night. As he drew the curtains around him, he couldn't help but once again be thankful for Neville, Hermione, Luna and Dumbledore, each of which had contributed something important to the man he'd grown into. With that thought, he fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

When he awoke, it was still early enough to be dark, only the song of the hardiest of birds twittered through the still morning air. It took Harry several moments to comprehend why he'd awoken this early, before the softest of lurches in his stomach reminded him that today was the day of the Slytherin game.

He rose as quietly as he could, trying not to wake the other boys that inhabited his dormitory. Try as he might, as he climbed out of his four poster, his foot caught on his trunk at the end of his bed and sent him crashing to the floor with a horrendously loud noise.

Almost instantly curtains were thrown open all around him. The curious and bewildered faces of Dean and Seamus peered out, along with the more wary faces of Neville and Ron, both of whom held their wands outstretched. Harry smiled; constant vigilance indeed.

"Sorry guys," said Harry, with as much heartfelt emotion in his voice as he could manage this early in the morning. "Quidditch match today, sort of fell over my trunk."

Ron made a disgusted noise and drew his curtains shut, but not before Harry noticed the dark rings around his eyes and the huge stack of books propped around him inside. Neville, Dean and Seamus on the other hand climbed out of bed and began to get ready.

"It's still early," said Harry in earnest. "You guys could easily get another few hours sleep."

"And miss out on all the pre-game banter?" asked Seamus with a chuckle.

"You mean all the pre-game drinking," amended Dean and received a stalwart glare from his Irish friend.

Harry laughed and pulled on his quidditch robes, before removing his firebolt from its mountings on the wall above his bed. It was one of the few gifts his father had ever bought him; a Christmas present in his third year when he finally decided to return to Harry's life. It was one of a few objects Harry held in great esteem.

"You come up with another chant this year?" he asked Seamus as they came down the stairs into the common room.

A number of other students were already up, including Katie who was pouring over a tiny replica stadium and McLaggen who looked oddly confident for a player going into his first quidditch game.

"Damn right I have," replied Seamus. "You wanna hear?"

Harry hesitated; Seamus' attempts at friendly inter-school rivalry were invariably offensive, crude or in incredibly bad taste. More often than not a combination of all three.

"I do," said George, appearing at Seamus' elbow.

"Me too," said his twin, arriving at the other.

Harry rolled his eyes; you could always count on the twins to encourage anything in bad taste. Seamus grinned and took a deep breath before bellowing into the common room at the top of his voice.

"Malfoy is a wizard,  
He wears a wizard's hat,  
And when he takes it off his head,  
He looks a fu-"

"-Thank you very much, Mister Finnegan," came a loud voice from the portrait hole as Professor McGonagall emerged into the common room, a severe expression on her face. "I'd ask you to refrain from a repeat performance, but I expect I'd merely be banging an old drum."

"A drum!" exclaimed George excitedly. "That's what its missing Seamus; you need a drum beat for it!"

Professor McGonagall regarded them with a furrowed brow, before turning to Harry. She eyed him critically and then handed him a small slip of parchment.

"The headmaster thought it was important you receive this immediately," she informed him as though she disagreed. "And good luck today Potter. Let's see if we can't make it three in three, eh?"

Harry smiled and unfolded the slip of parchment; it was a terse note from his father.

'Dear Harry,  
I would very much appreciate it if you would come home this Christmas.  
James Potter'

Harry looked up into the face of McGonagall who had obvious concern written on her face. She, more than anyone else, knew the emotional pain Harry had suffered at the hands of his father. It was oddly comforting to him that she was worried about his well being despite the troubles he'd put her through during his time at Hogwarts.

"I'm fine Professor," he assured her. "He said as much before I boarded the train in September."

She considered him a moment longer before nodding primly.

"Should you reconsider, you are of course welcome to stay at Hogwarts this Christmas," she informed him.

"Not to mention the Burrow," said Fred, throwing his arm around Harry's neck and pulling him into a headlock.

"Or at mine," suggested Neville, drumming his knuckles against the top of Harry's head.

McGonagall tried to frown, but couldn't help the smile that crept on to her lips, despite Harry's predicament.

"Do try not to injure your seeker before the game, Mr. Weasley," she said and turned on her heel.

Neville walked him down to breakfast. They hadn't spoken a great deal since Harry's outburst in the Great Hall and had only exchanged terse words when they were required during their tutoring sessions. But Neville seemed to have, as always, forgiven Harry without having to be asked.

No traces of any misgivings were obvious in either of them as they talked and laughed their way down through the corridors and staircases, discussing how much Gryffindor was going to win by and various humorous calamities that Slytherin players would suffer during the game.

They were discussing the possibility of cursing the quidditch balls themselves when they walked together into the, surprisingly crowded, Great Hall. Clearly the promise of Slytherin versus Gryffindor after a year's hiatus was too much for the school to resist.

"Of course," said Harry loudly as they passed the Slytherin table. "Even if the bludgers were bewitched, they still wouldn't go anywhere near Malfoy's ugly mug."

The blonde in question turned to face Harry, but instead of giving the glare or derisive comment that he'd expected, a small devious smile crept on to his lips and he winked at Harry. There was none of the frustration that had been present in recent weeks, none of the anger lurking just below the skin waiting to explode out. Malfoy was relaxed, quiet and assured and this worried Harry.

He gave a quick glance up toward the staff table where he met Dumbledore's eyes. The slight incline of the Headmaster's head told him that he too had seen the change in Malfoy. This reassured Harry somewhat, but not completely.

Harry knew Dumbledore had not considered Malfoy as a viable threat and felt Harry put too much stock in the boy. But where most people saw a talentless bully, Harry saw a young man desperate for his father's approval and he knew himself how potent this motivation could be.

He couldn't help but smile as he looked down the Gryffindor table, which was awash with a sea of red banners, robes and jaunty jester's hats that roared fiercely every few minutes; no doubt the twin's doing.

He sat down at the table and was almost immediately surrounded by well-wishers inquiring how he was feeling, whether he planned on toying with Slytherin before he caught the snitch, if his firebolt was in top-notch condition and a thousand other inane things that Harry couldn't help but let make him smile.

"Cummon," said Neville loudly, flapping his arms in their direction. "Give the man some room, let him eat his breakfast."

Harry gave Neville a grateful smile, but the truth was he couldn't eat. He wasn't nervous about the game, as egotistical as he might appear, he knew he'd never failed to catch the snitch first, never lost a game in his career at Hogwarts and he'd lifted the quidditch cup both times the season had been completed in his four years at Hogwarts.

No, his worry came from Malfoy's newly returned swagger. He'd been unable, as of late, to keep as close an eye on Malfoy as he'd have liked. Between the Slytherin's constant comings and goings to the seventh floor corridor and Dumbledore's insistence not to involve himself, Harry hadn't really seen him except during the classes that they shared.

"Don't worry about him," said Neville from beside him, clearly having caught a number of Harry's glances in that direction. "He's going to be on the pitch for at least the next hour anyway. So concentrate on beating him in the game."

Harry smiled slightly at his friend. He was right after all. Dumbledore had ordered him to leave Malfoy alone, but if he was on the pitch with Harry, there wasn't much he could do except play quidditch.

Harry smiled more brightly and dug into his sausages, now confident in the fact that at least for the next few hours, while he thrashed Slytherin at quidditch, the school would definitely be safe from Malfoy's influence.

He was almost finished when Luna appeared at his elbow as suddenly and silently as though she'd popped out of the wood work. She didn't say a word, but merely sat next to him, munching on her slice of toast contentedly, apparently unconcerned by his preoccupation with other matters for the last week.

"I thought I'd come and wish you luck," she said, then after another mouthful of toast, continued. "I've missed you."

"Yeah, me too," said Harry, feeling as though a weight he'd not noticed had slipped off his chest. "I'm sorry; I've been busy."

"Oh, I know," she said, and leant her chin on his shoulder as she chewed, to whisper into his ear. "I'm not jealous of Draco Malfoy."

"What?" asked Harry, his eyes wide. "I'm not-"

"I know," she interjected. "I meant his plan."

"How did you-" began Harry.

"I'm not stupid, Harry" she said cutting airily across him, distracted by the clouds above. "He's been sad all week and you've been watching him and now he's happy and you're worried. I suppose there are a few things that might be going on, but you don't seem the type to be in a turbulent love affair with another man."

Harry could only gape at her until she turned a smile in his direction and he saw the humour in her eyes. She kissed him lightly on the jaw and rose, her arms briefly closing around him as she did.

"Good luck with your game Harry," she said, nuzzled her face against the side of his head and whispered. "Come and find me after."

"Why?" he asked in confusion as she walked away, but she only smiled at him before disappearing amongst the Ravenclaws heading down to the match.

A minute later Katie gathered the Gryffindor team together and led them out towards the pitch. Harry couldn't help but notice the hard-set expression on the faces of everyone around him. Each one of them wanted to maintain Gryffindor's winning streak, each one wanted to grind Slytherin's faces into the dirt. Even Cormac, who hadn't been on the last three teams, looked pumped for the match.

Katie's face was long and drawn as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry in the player's tunnel. His hand found her arm and he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Cheer up skipper," he said with a wink and her face brightened slightly. "We'll win this one easily."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she said and gave him a significant look.

"Is there anyone in Hogwarts who doesn't know Malfoy is plotting something?" he asked bitterly.

"Not anyone without a penis," she replied. "Why do you think so many people have turned out today?"

"To keep an eye on Malfoy?" he asked in surprise.

"No, you idiot," she said. "Because you're here and everyone knows that the safest place to be when things go down is near a great wizard."

Harry felt his face flush.

"Not to mention Dumbledore," replied Harry.

"Him too," she said, laughter in her voice.

The doors before them opened and Harry momentarily had to shield his eyes from the sunlight streaming into the narrow tunnel. A second later though, he mounted his broom and flew out onto the pitch, to tumultuous applause.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. I give you Bell, Potter, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and McLaggen; Gryffindor!" roared the voice of Lee Jordan from the commentator's seat. "Captain Katie Bell has only made one deviation from the cup winning teams of 1992 and 1994 adding McLaggen to replace former Captain Oliver Wood."

A moment later the Slytherins took to the air, streaming upward in a blur of green robes.

"And here comes Slytherin!" shouted Lee Jordan. "Montague, Malfoy, Pucey, Warrington, Crabbe, Goyle and Bletchley."

As the two teams lined up for the start, Harry found his eyes drifting toward the staff box. Surprisingly it was not the reassuring eyes of Albus Dumbledore that looked back at him, but a mirror image of his own deep brown eyes. His father slowly inclined his head at Harry's gaze that he returned jerkily.

For a moment, Harry couldn't explain his father's presence here, but a second later he caught a glance of a shock of pink hair amongst the crowd. Then he felt the instinctive shudder as the magic of Moody's eye fell upon him. The Order was here! Dumbledore had paid heed.

As he looked more closely, he spotted a host of the new generation of Order Members; Cedric Diggory, Viktor Krum, Alex Thalburg, Fleur Delacour, Boone Halverson, Andro Milisovic and Bill Weasley. Harry could only guess that there were more he couldn't see, possibly even Order members all over the castle.

For the first time in weeks, Harry smiled easily and even did a few back flips on his broom, drawing the severe eye of Madame Hooch as she prepared to release the balls. Nothing Draco had planned could possibly work with this many Order members present, whatever he had hoped to achieve was impossible.

Harry looked up at his opposite number, who gave him an expression halfway between nervousness and terror. Harry could almost feel his heart sing at the look on Draco's face. With his worries behind him, he allowed himself to focus, for the first time, wholly on winning the game before him. He cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

Then they were off; the balls escaped the box and came flying out at break-neck speed. Harry managed to keep the snitch in his eye for a few seconds before it disappeared.

As per Katie's game plan, Harry took off straight upward, to circle the pitch at a high altitude. The reasons for this were two-fold; firstly it gave Harry's keen eye more chance to spot the snitch but secondly, Draco was sure to follow him and he was a notorious cheat, even going as far as to interfere with the chasers and beaters, regardless of his position on the team.

Yet today it seemed as though Montague had his own game plan, for Draco began speedy, low loops of the pitch. Harry couldn't help but frown. It wasn't an uncommon tactic; Diggory had used a similar tactic when he'd played. Yet it wasn't suited to someone of Draco's build and Montague should have known better than to task him to it.

After a few moments consternation, Harry shrugged off his worry. Even if it were an odd tactic, it took Draco out of the game and there was no way that the Slytherin Seeker would pose any threat there, leaving Harry free to run interference on the rest of the game.

For a while, he watched the game unfold below whilst keeping an eye out for the snitch. The action was intense, as it always was in the first few moments of the game and with his attention divided, he often had to fall back on Jordan's commentary to keep track of its progress.

"Bell passes to Spinett, Spinett back to Bell, but Montague makes a perfect block and now Warrington's making a beeline for the goal," roared Lee. "But a beautiful combination stop and pass from McLaggen sends Johnson on the counter attack. She dodges a bludger, Weasley and Weasley juggle the other expertly and Bell, now in possession, executes a perfect sloth-roll grip to go past Pucey. A little lay off to Spinnet and YES! Gryffindor Score."

Harry couldn't help but grin as Alicia rolled her broom in victory celebration before going zooming off after the quaffle again. He let his eyes go searching again and allowed himself to absorb Jordan's expert commentary.

"That's Montague in possession, makes a perfect backward pass to Pucey, who immediately lines Warrington up for an easy shot, but no, denied by Weasley's bludger. Spinett's got the quaffle, looks like she's got a clear run at the hoops!"

Harry was suddenly joined above the level of play by Goyle, who was chasing an errant bludger. As the boy rounded it, to bat it back into play at Alicia, Harry whistled.

"Hey, ugly, over here!" he shouted.

Goyle momentarily took his eye off the bludger he was chasing. A second later it crashed into his stomach, laying him down flat against his broom gasping for breath. Harry winked at him and sped off a little way, in case the Slytherin's mind wandered to revenge.

"Spinett scores again!" roared Lee Jordan below.

Harry's smile widened and sideswiped a bludger aimed at him by Goyle, sending it in the direction of the Slytherin Keeper, who had to dodge to avoid it, allowing Katie to slot another past him.

"Thirty nil to Gryffindor," roared Lee. "Though I'm wondering how accidental that bludger was, Potter!"

Harry laughed and saluted him before corkscrewing down toward the ground in a sudden rush of speed. He vaguely heard Lee's yells as he hurtled toward the ground.

"AND POTTER'S ALREADY SEEN THE SNITCH!"

As he'd planned, everyone including the crowd, Draco and the Slytherin players thought he'd seen the snitch. Everyone except the Gryffindor players who knew the move from drills and took the opportunity to score again.

The moment Harry saw Draco closing in on the imaginary snitch from the opposite direction he adjusted the tilt of his broom and flew directly at the Slytherin seeker. He whipped past close enough for their robes to make contact but without infringing any physical contact rules.

Harry glanced back and in his wake saw the Slytherin seeker floundering comically on his broom before tipping off. Stifling a laugh, Harry doubled back and floated a few feet above the dazed, but otherwise unhurt Draco.

"Gotta be quicker than that Malfoy," he said with a laugh.

Just at that moment Seamus along with a choir of assorted Gryffindors decided to break into song. It wasn't his newest creation, which he seemed to be saving, but instead a favourite amongst the Gryffindors. The song had been written after Harry accidentally let slip that the sorting hat had offered him his choice of house in his third year and had been a staple of the Tri-wizard Tournament.

"Potter came to Hogwarts,  
Put on a magic hat!  
In his mind was Gryffindor,  
He said 'I fancy that!'  
He didn't join the Hufflepuffs,  
Or Slytherin, 'cuz they're shite,  
No, he joined us in Gryffindor,  
Because we're dynamite!"

Harry laughed awkwardly, slightly embarrassed by the attention now that he was aware his father was watching from the stands. Yet despite his concern, when he took a glance in the direction of the top box, he spotted his father grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying the game.

"Spinnet grabs another one," shouted Lee over the tumultuous din of the Gryffindors. "Making it five for her and seventy ten to Gryffindor."

Harry was about to resume his usual high circular tours of the pitch, when he happened to spot the snitch hovering by the staff box. However, between him and the snitch was Malfoy, who was thankfully looking the other way. Getting as close as he dare without alerting the other player, Harry wolf whistled once more, catching his attention.

"Hey Draco," he called, and then dropped his voice to a whisper. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain."

"What?" asked the blonde, a confused expression on his face and edged nearer to Harry. "What did you say?"

Harry didn't even bother to reply as he surged past the Slytherin, taking him completely by surprise. Two seconds later, Harry came to an abrupt stop, scattering the front row of the staff box, with the snitch clasped in his hand. It had all occurred so quickly that for a moment nobody seemed to have understood exactly what happened.

Then Hooch blew the final whistle and the grounds erupted in an explosion of applause.

"HARRY POTTER GETS THE SNITCH," screamed Lee Jordan so loud he made himself hoarse. "Gryffindor win Two Hundred and Twenty to Ten!"

Harry floated down into the staff box and dismounted his broom. He was vaguely aware of Snape's bitter glare, McGonagall's thinly veiled excitement and Flitwick's exuberant applause. Despite all this, he merely sat next to his father and stared out at the pitch for a moment before handing him the snitch he'd just caught.

"Passable," said James, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm almost tempted to acknowledge you as my son."

Harry turned to face him and the pair shared an almost identical grin, Harry's twisted slightly by the scar on his face.

"You were amazing," said James, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Almost as good as me."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but a split second later he was mobbed by the rest of his team. Cormac was the first to reach him and threw his arms around Harry in a tight bear-hug.

"You handled it Potter!" he shouted. "You bloody-well handled it!"

Then everyone else caught up and Harry found himself enveloped in a mass of writhing arms and bodies. Harry couldn't help but laugh as they each ruffled his hair and hugged him in turn. Finally when he extracted himself from the pack of players and began to float back to the pitch, Seamus decided to unleash his secret weapon.

"Malfoy is a wizard,  
He wears a wizard's hat,  
And when he takes it off his head,  
He looks a fu-"

A single shrill scream rent the air, killing all of the celebrations and chanting immediately. Harry whirled around and felt his stomach leap into his throat.

Floating high above the castle's tallest tower was the Dark Mark.


	10. The Skull in the Sky

******CONLAODH'S SONG**  
Chapter Ten: The Skull in the Sky

Time stood agonisingly still; the panic of the crowd became an indistinct murmur to Harry's ears. The sights and sounds and smells around him faded in comparison to the floating skull above the castle. The symbol that had haunted his dreams since he was a year old. The symbol that had floated above Godric's Hollow one fateful November night. The symbol for all that was wrong and corrupt with the world. In the air it hung, mocking him.

It was Voldemort's ultimate triumph. Everything Harry had done, all the precautions Dumbledore had taken, all the warnings, the divination, the preparation, the worrying. It had all been for nothing. Voldemort had proven that despite everything that conspired against him, his insipid treacherous tentacles were longer and more powerful than any of them had dared imagine.

They had been fooled and now someone; a student or a teacher, was dead. Harry took the blow personally. Even though the identity of the victim was still unknown to him, he knew they had loved, been loved, laughed, cried, succeeded, failed. They were important. If not to the world, then to someone, to him.

An intense rage that Harry had fought to keep at bay for his entire life exploded to the very surface of his skin. The hairs on his arms rose, his eyes darkened and narrowed. His nostrils flared as he took a deep, glorious breath of the anger he exuded. It was liberating to set his emotions free after bottling them up for so long.

Then from the corner of his eyes he caught sight of Draco Malfoy.

Something inside Harry purred happily at the sight of the blonde's face. Slowly, maintaining a perfect balance between all-consuming anger and rational thought, he expertly piloted his broom to the ground. He dismounted casually and took a step towards Malfoy.

He was vaguely aware of silence descending in the stands around him as they all turned to watch as he methodically worked his way over to the Slytherin, his wand spinning lazily in his hand. Someone screamed out a warning and a bolt of vile yellow light exploded into his peripheral vision.

A split second before it touched him, Harry whisked his wand upward and the curse exploded on its tip into a cloud of yellow butterflies. He didn't even turn from Malfoy as a flick of his wand transfigured the grass beneath Warrington's feet into thick vines that burst from the ground in a shower of soil and wrapped around his body and pulled him to the ground. Another downward slash blew the six other members of the Slytherin quidditch team off their feet with a harmless but powerful jinx that sent them spiralling through the air like leaves on a breeze.

A twist of his wand and a pearlescent dome erupted from the ground around him, segregating him and Malfoy from the rest of the world. A half dozen curses ranging from stunners to the Dark Arts struck its surface as the Slytherins found their feet. They hung for a moment on the curve of the dome before exploding outward with a violent suddenness into the faces of their casters.

Harry stared at Malfoy, who fumbled for his own wand. Somewhere in the rage that flowed through his very veins, Harry found an unnerving calm. A coldness that stayed his hand despite every fibre of his body demanding to see Malfoy blown into a thousand pieces and sprinkled to the four corners of the earth.

"What have you done?" he asked softly.

Malfoy moved at once, his wand flying upward and unleashing a devastating curse that scorched the air as it hurtled across the space between them. Harry smelled burning grass a split second before he lifted his wand and the curse faded into nothing.

Malfoy seemed shocked beyond words or movement. Harry disarmed him with the merest incline of his arm, throwing the boy and his wand in opposite directions. Harry didn't even bother to lift his hand to catch the wand as it flew past his head; he merely walked closer to Draco.

"I'm only going to ask this once more," said Harry, his voice still level, even as cracks began to emerge in his outer facade. "What have you done?"

The Slytherin's body tensed momentarily, the only outward sign of his impending attack, but Harry noticed it immediately. So when the boy rose swiftly, whipping the silver dagger he'd removed from his robes in the direction of Harry's throat, he was prepared.

He seized Malfoy by the wrist and at the elbow and with a single swift motion turned the blade inward, plunging it deep into his stomach. Malfoy's pale blue eyes opened wide in pain and for a second he could only stare at Harry in disbelief, before he fell to his knees.

Harry caught him before he could fall onto the dagger and cause himself further damage. He too dropped to his knees and held the boy as he shuddered in pain, too winded to even scream. He stopped Draco's hand from freeing the dagger and put his lips close to the boy's ear.

"Don't pull it out," he whispered. "You'll bleed out quicker."

He looked down at the wound, from the direction and angle of penetration, Harry guessed it had probably nicked his lungs before penetrating his intestines. Harry knew it was a long blade, but he wasn't sure how long, so estimating how much internal damage it had done was nigh impossible.

"Tell me what you've done," whispered Harry. "And we can save you. You don't have long."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't."

"DON'T," roared Harry, then his voice softened. "Don't do this. What have you done? It's not too late."

The blonde smiled and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

"I guess I chose the wrong side," he wheezed. "Didn't realise you were as good as you are. I really am sorry."

Even as he wiped away the blood and spit from the boy's mouth with his hand, Harry knew something was wrong. Blonde hair had begun to darken, the upturned nose began to change shape, his eyes and skin began to change colour. His body began to expand and tore through his robes. Harry abruptly found he was holding the battered form of Blaise Zabini by the collar. The dark-skinned boy smiled up at Harry through glazing eyes.

"Surprise Potter," he spluttered his voice mild and weak. "Not expecting that, were you?"

"No," he admitted as he laid the boy back on the ground and closed his eyes with a sweep of his hand. "I wasn't expecting that, Blaise."

Harry bowed his head and took a deep breath to calm himself. He could have saved Blaise; he could have wrenched the blade out and despite the silver contaminating the wound fixed him with two flicks of his wand. Instead he'd let him die; partly out of vengeance, partly out of pity.

Something slipped away from Harry in that moment, the moment in which he understood what it meant to take a human life. Blaise's death hadn't been heroic, grand or glorious; it had been painful, needless and bloody. The handsome, talented boy had thrown his life away for nothing at the hand of an opponent a thousand times superior to himself in a split-second of misjudgement. He'd given his life in the name of a cause he couldn't have begun to understand.

It was a waste. A disgusting mockery of all that should have been good and right and innocent. A defilement of what he and Dumbledore stood for, a dirty stain on the words of peace they spoke. For the greater good indeed. It left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth as he left the body lying in the grass and climbed to his feet, taking the dagger with him.

He removed his outer quidditch robe and used it to cover Zabini's body, collected his wand and snapped it in half, before placing it on the boy's chest in the manner long traditional for fallen warriors. A thought dropped the shield he'd erected around the pair of them and Harry faced the Order Members, Staff and a few of the braver seventh years that had assembled around it.

"Someone take his body into the Slytherin changing room," he said, Thalburg stepped forward and lifted his wand, Harry caught him by the sleeve. "This is a casualty of war; a hero. He deserves to be carried."

The massive Dane looked surprised, but complied; lifting the body gently in his thick, muscled arms. Zabini's legs and head dangled grotesquely either side of his grasp, but the two halves of his wand remained delicately poised on his chest.

He turned to face the people who now surrounded him expectantly, their faces set despite the fear in their eyes. It was not Kingsley, Moody, or even his father they were looking to for instruction. It was not the Deputy Headmistress, or their heads of houses. It was certainly not the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. Each and every one of them looked at him for instruction.

Finally he understood what Katie had been trying to tell him before the game. He was the one they trusted to keep them safe, he was they trusted to lead them to victory, he was the closest they had to Dumbledore.

Harry hesitated only for a second.

"The castle is under attack," he confirmed as McGonagall pushed her way toward him, his brain whirring as he assessed his options. "Our first priority is to protect the students out here at the stadium. Most of the school's population is here but it isn't a defensible area. If there's anything amounting to a sizeable force at the castle and they turn their attention to us, we'll be overrun and there'll be a massacre."

"You want to return to the castle," said Kingsley, pushing his way to the forefront along with Harry's father and Mad-Eye.

"In stages," confirmed Harry and turned on his heel, marching off through the crowd and leaving them to follow him. "The Great Hall is our best bet. It's only got one entrance, it's close to us and it's big enough to hold everyone here. But it's stupid to shepherd everyone up to the castle if it's already totally over run. I'm suggesting we send three or four up to the castle to scout the situation first then bring the rest up if it's safe."

"What about Hogsmede?" asked Tonks from his left. "If we get the students down there we can organise an evacuation."

"It's not inside the wards," said Harry. "It might be exactly what the enemy expects us to do. It only takes one wizard to cast the Dark Mark; it's very possible they could be trying to force us into a trap. The students are far more vulnerable in Hogsmede than anywhere on the Hogwart's grounds."

Tonks looked as though she was going to disagree, but James slapped a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"He's right," he said. "We need to decide who is going up to the castle and put the rest of the Order on the outside of the stands in a defensive circle. Get the kids to the centre of the stadium."

Harry nodded as he approached the group of prefects and seventh years, his face schooled to complete seriousness. He was pleased to see that among the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs there were a healthy number of Slytherins.

"You're now responsible for the welfare of the students in your houses," he told them. "You need to bring them down to the field and make sure you get everyone. Find something to write on, get together, write a list of everyone in your house and then take a headcount, I want to know who we're missing and where they're likely to be.

"I understand I'm asking a lot of you, but I wouldn't if you weren't completely up to the task. You've got to be strong for the younger students; they're going to be frightened enough as it is. Keep an eye on them, keep them safe."

If any of them questioned the authority of a fifth year, nobody voiced it and at a nod from him they all dispersed and some immediately set about herding the younger students on to the pitch in a fairly orderly manner whilst others ripped posters from the wall, produced pens and parchment from bags and sat down together to deduce who was missing from their houses.

Harry walked to the entrance of the stadium and stared up toward the castle, over which the glittering Dark Mark still hung, silent and foreboding.

"You're going up to the castle aren't you?" asked his father standing beside him.

Harry turned to look at his father; there was none of the fear in his expression that he'd seen in the others. He, his father, Mad-Eye and Kingsley alone seemed immune to the aura of fear that the skull in the sky exuded.

There was a strange calm in James Potter's face, a relaxation that belayed his usual intensity. A pleasure in the chaos that seemed to undermine everything Harry thought he'd known about his father. The grim, stone-faced man had been swept away by the encroaching battle and replaced by one half his age.

"There's been no word from Dumbledore," said Harry. "No patronus, no Fawkes. Voldemort is in the castle; I can feel him whispering to me, calling me up."

"How?" asked his father and Harry pointed to the Dark Mark.

"I thought it was mocking me, but it's an invitation."

"An invitation? Sounds like a trap to me."

"Of course it is," smiled Harry. "I know that and he knows I know and he knows that I'll come anyway."

"Why?" asked James.

"To prove I'm better."

"I can understand that," he said, then after a pause. "Are you?"

"No."

"Then why go?"

"What would you have me do? Run? If I don't face him, he will come looking for me and if I don't find him then- well, all of this," he gestured to the stadium. "Everything I love, everything I know, my home, my family, you, Dumbledore. It's all forfeit."

"He wants to kill you that badly?"

"Kill me?" asked Harry, and then laughed. "No, never to kill me."

"Then what?"

Harry didn't answer; instead he turned to look at the stadium. He looked at the confused and frightened expressions of the students, the intent ones of the prefects that shepherded them, the grimly drawn faces of the Order as they climbed to take their positions at the top of the stands, facing outward in a thin, ragged line of defence.

"You'll follow me?" asked Harry.

"Of course," said his father. "To the gates of Hell and beyond."

"The gates of Hogwarts will suffice," said Harry and the pair of them shared a smile.

Kingsley stepped forward to join the pair, the tall dark auror's face as neutral as their own. His wand was held limply at his side, but the tension in his shoulder betrayed his readiness to spring into action.

"Us three?" he asked, his thick, relaxing accent working to blunt some of worry that wracked Harry.

"No, Kingsley," said Harry softly. "I need you, Tonks and Moody to stay here. You're my best; I can't take you away from the students."

Kingsley accepted the order with his usual grace, only the slightly sour downturn of his mouth betrayed his true emotions. Harry knew in that instant that the auror, like his father, would have gladly followed him to certain death. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder before dismissing him to take charge of the walls with a curt nod.

Paul Bellemy, the Head Boy approached him with a sheet of parchment. Twenty three names were printed neatly upon it with a list of possible locations upon it. Harry noticed with a tinge of anguish that both Ron Weasley and Luna Lovegood's names were among those listed. He hurriedly pushed it down and dismissed it. One Gryffindor; Ron, one Slytherin; Draco, nine Hufflepuffs and twelve Ravenclaws were missing.

"Thank you, Paul," said Harry kindly, attempting to assuage some of the tension in the older boy.

"You're going up to the castle, aren't you?" asked Paul.

Harry nodded.

"Talk to them, before you go," said Paul. "They're scared enough as it is, without you abandoning them. They need to know they're safe."

Harry stared at his retreating back and realised he was right. There were words that needed to be said, reassurances made, the gravity of the situation clarified. Harry managed to squeeze a small, fake smile on to his face, before he turned to the students that were now amassing on the field. He lowered his wand to the ground and a small hillock arose under his feet, lifting him above the several hundred or so heads.

He touched his wand to his throat and whispered.

"Sonorus."

He lifted his arms, beckoning for silence and strangely enough, the students did as he requested. The chattering died away into low whispers and finally into silence. His eyes sought out Neville, who seemed to have gained a small army of bodyguards; Bill Weasley stood with his hand on Neville's shoulder and around him stood the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, Dean and Seamus, all with their wands drawn.

"As you know, the Dark Mark was cast above the Astronomy Tower a few minutes ago. Voldemort has attacked the castle," he announced to a ripple of discord. "Until we are aware of the situation at the school, you will remain here. Please, for the sake of everyone, listen to the seventh years and prefects, staff and other adults present. Try to remain grouped in your school houses as much as possible and don't wander.

"While you're on the field, you're as safe as we can possibly make you, but be vigilant. If you're alone, you're vulnerable. Help each other, watch out for the younger students." Harry looked around and saw the worry of the older faces and the sheer terror of some of the younger ones. "You're students of Hogwarts. For over a thousand years that has meant something and today it shall too. We might have our own personal enemies between these walls, we might have our inter-school rivalries, but today we're no longer a school, we're a family. Regardless of the colour of our crests, regardless of our enmity, regardless of our creed. Today we protect our own."

With a sweep of his wand, Harry cancelled the charm on his throat and flattened the ground beneath his feet. After a second, a dull murmur of general assent began to ripple through the students. Harry was glad nobody applauded his proclamation; it would have undermined the seriousness of his words.

"What do you think?" asked Harry of his father who still stood close to hand.

"Well it wasn't exactly the St. Crispin's day speech," said James with a wry smile. "But you had the Sermon at the Mound beat hands down."

"That's not what I meant," snapped Harry. "As you well know."

"It's a good plan," said James, adopting a more serious tone. "The best we've got. Who else is coming with us?"

Harry didn't answer, he knew his father wouldn't like the third of their scouting party. Instead he turned and stared up at the Dark Mark high above the school. The green skull looked back magnanimously, singing a quiet song that only he could hear; the song that drew him ever closer toward death.

The slightest of breezes chilled the sweat at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine that wasn't entirely from the cold. Terror gripped at his heart, threatening to overwhelm him.

His father placed his hand on his shoulder and Harry looked up into his eyes, so alike his own. Harry remained very still as he fought away the fear that had momentarily seized him. He clenched his teeth and nodded as his entire body relaxed a little. It was time. The skull in the sky called and he wouldn't resist any longer.

"Severus," he called. "It's time."

Everyone within audible distance lifted their eyebrows in surprise at the easy way Harry spoke to the Potions Master. Nobody however, was more surprised than Harry himself when the sallow faced man merely nodded and moved to comply with the order. Harry had expected him to at least question the request, if not outright refuse.

He came to stand at his side, his face drawn Harry ignored his father's restless movements and Snape's expression of utmost loathing.

"Remember what I just said," Harry said to the pair of them. "Today we put aside our enmity and take care of our own."

Snape turned his contemptuous glare to Harry, where it softened slightly, then faded. He bowed his head slightly in a strangely subservient manner.

"I cannot go face to face against the Death Eaters, Potter," said Snape. "You know this."

"I'm not asking you to," replied Harry. "I'm asking something far more dangerous of you."

"I am no coward."

"I know, that's why I'm asking. I warned you before, now I'm asking you to face it."

Snape's face went, if possible, even paler. Regardless, he nodded despite his anguish, as Harry had known he would. If there was one value other than ability that the man held in spades, it was bravery. Snape's ability to fight through fear, his desire to fight for what was right despite his easy route out was what separated him from the rest. Dumbledore knew it and so did Harry. Harry gave him a wan smile, the best he could offer in the circumstances.

Nothing disturbed their run up to the main doors of Hogwarts, except the Dark Mark that hung above the castle, gloating. Anger surged through Harry as he looked at it a final time. Hogwarts was his home, the invasion of it was like a personal insult that bored under his skin and enraged him. The fury that he'd felt spiralling through him when he faced Zabini reared its head again, even more terrible than before

A single flick of his wand sent the vast oak doors crashing backwards on their hinges. A split-second later a hail of spellfire exploded outwards. Harry lifted his pearlescent shield once more, protecting the three of them with ease.

"Stay close," Harry said in a low tone to his father, and then looked to Snape. "Don't let them see you, find another way. The third floor corridor, Severus. You're needed there."

Snape nodded wordlessly and with a final inscrutable glance at the pair of them hurried off to utilize a side door further along the wall. Harry watched his last hope for Ron depart and silently wished him luck while trying to ignore the fact that he might well have just sent the man to his death. James glanced at Harry and made a face.

"Why?" asked James. "Why him?"

"Because it has to be him," said Harry simply. "And because I trust him."

"So I guess it's just the Potters then," said James with a wry grin. "Father and son, the family business, all that malarkey."

"The family business?" asked Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"Y'know; killing Death Eaters, stuffing Voldemort's plans, that sort of thing," laughed James, looking far happier and more excited than Harry could ever remember seeing him.

Harry's stomach turned. In that second he realised that James Potter had died that night in November fifteen years ago as surely as if he'd taken a killing curse. The smiling, blissful man, who'd kissed his wife beneath the mistletoe or proudly held his new born son now only existed in photographs.

In his stead was a man that was nothing more than a shadow of who James Potter had been. A shallow, bitter man who lived for blood and thrived off violence. A man that sought to kill because he had nothing left.

It was an appalling realisation.

Both of them launched themselves in to the Entrance Hall in a single movement; James deflecting spells from their path and Harry's shield merely absorbing everything that passed him. The view that met their eyes as they dashed inside made Harry's body tingle in anticipation.

Eight masked Death Eaters stood in the middle of the room and in the middle of them was Draco Malfoy, his smile wide and mocking. Harry couldn't conceive of a way he'd managed to get eight of the Dark Lord's worst into the castle, it was more impressive than Harry had imagined possible from the Slytherin. Old Creatures were one feat, but they could negate the wards of the castle, smuggling unauthorized and malicious wizards through was another altogether harder task. Not that it made much of a difference to him at this juncture.

"Nice of you to join us, Potter," gloated Malfoy, stretching out his arms. "I wish I could have seen the look on your face when you realised that it was Zabini playing instead of me. And now you've come straight to me. Looks like my day."

"You talk too much Malfoy," said Harry and took a step forward.

Pandemonium ensued.

All nine wands targeted Harry, each throwing the strongest curses they could manage straight at him. It was a clever tactic; to overwhelm his shield and kill him before he could cause too much damage. Or it would have been, if that wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

The moment they turned their wands on him, Harry flicked his own, bringing eight stone columns away from the walls and into the path of the curses. The multicoloured strands of light hit the columns with a massive explosion.

The instant the room was full of dust, James struck, his first curse striking one Death Eater in the leg and knocking him out of view. Harry swiped his wand again, banishing the debris from the pillars into the faces of the Death Eaters, sending them scurrying out of the way.

A curse bounced off his father's shield a second later, followed quickly by another, straining even his limits. Harry leapt forward, his body lithe and ready, deflecting a third curse and scattering Death Eaters with the same wand movement.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop, the Death Eaters seemed hesitant to incur his wrath and Harry was calm in the face of the storm.

Then the image of Blaise spluttering his last breaths rose to the forefront of his mind and Harry lost himself to the anger pouring through his veins, the dust in his eyes and the rage in his heart. He moved across the hall like he'd never moved before; each step fluid, elegant, poised and always on the offensive. No curse came even close to touching him as he crossed the floor toward them.

One opponent leapt forward, a curse on his lips that died as Harry's wand swept out. The tip of Harry's wand touched the man's chest, there was a flash of white light and the Death Eater collapsed. Harry turned as another curse hurtled toward him, that he merely stepped under, coming up underneath the guard of his opponent and blowing him high into the air. Another twist of his wand wrapped ropes around the man.

"Come on!" he heard Draco call from somewhere behind the other Death Eaters. "Get him! He's only one wizard! Get him!"

Harry sidestepped a slashed wand, ignoring the purple flames that leapt from it and swung his wand in a wide arc. The hangings and tapestries leapt to life, flying from the walls and entwined themselves around the Death Eater, dragging him screaming to the floor.

"Mobilinanimus!" roared Harry with a sweep of his wand.

Four suits of armour from various positions in the hall burst to life. One leapt forward and wrapped its arms around Draco, pulling him to the floor and out of the way of a poorly aimed curse that blew apart the wall behind him. Another caught a Death Eater by the back of his collar and lifted him from the floor.

The third was blown apart by a Death Eater quicker than his companions who quickly turned his attention to Harry. The last stepped between his father's back and a killing curse. The suit of armour was instantly destroyed, showering the room in pieces of searing metal.

Harry parried two curses, knocking them out of the air with flicks of his wand. Each curse dissolving into thick clouds of butterflies that descended upon and swamped their caster, flapping around his head and bouncing off his skull.

Another curse bounced off a smaller, more precise shield that Harry produced blindly with a corkscrew motion of his wand over his shoulder. He turned to face his attacker and a circular motion from his wand drew the stone dust up from the ground to surround the Death Eater.

With another wand motion from Harry, a hand materialized from the dust, coming together to form stone and swinging out, catching the dark wizard in the sternum with an uppercut. A second hand formed and struck another blow to his jaw, knocking him unconscious.

A bang reverberated around the room and Harry turned to see his father fly across the room and crash to the ground. The two Death Eaters he'd been simultaneously duelling stepped toward him, wands ready to finish him.

"Incenverbio!" cried Harry, lifting his wand.

A thin whip of fire exploded from the tip of his wand which he snapped downward, intercepting both curses aimed at his father. Another flick took the wand from the hand of the first Death Eater and a final twist swept the man from his feet and bouncing his head off the stone.

The other stepped past the tip of the whip, his wand flying up and releasing a blasting curse into Harry's chest, blowing him from his feet and sending him spinning across the room. Harry gasped as he thumped against the ground, pushing all the air out of his lungs.

The final Death Eater leapt forward, a huge burst of purple flames exploding from his wand. Harry just about managed to roll out of the way, as the fire scorched the stone where he'd been a second ago.

As Harry rose to his feet, his opponent came forward again. Two bright red curses struck him in the chest, the first knocking him off balance and the other sending him reeling. Harry spun back to face his opponent, his wand raised, but a disarming spell struck him in the chest, sending his wand flying from his hand and clattering across the floor.

The Death Eater stepped towards him and his hand reached up to his mask, which he prised gently away from his face and became dust. Antonin Dolohov gave Harry a gloating smile, stretching his twisted face in a grotesque contortion. Slowly he lifted his wand.

Harry pounced immediately, drawing the silver knife and taking a swipe at the man's wand hand, missing the flesh, but cutting the wand itself neatly in two. Dolohov reacted instantly, tackling Harry to the ground and punching him viciously in the face. The knife slid away across the stone.

A moment later the Death Eater's hands had found themselves around Harry's throat, choking the life from him. Desperately, Harry reached a hand up to push against the larger man, but Dolohov's bulk was too much for Harry to push. In desperation he focused his will into his finger tips and, with incredible difficulty, lift the knife into the air and edge it closer to Dolohov's back.

The combination of the crushing need for air, fighting Dolohov and manipulating magic without a wand almost proved too much for Harry. By the time the knife was in position, Harry's vision had begun to darken at the edges, but with the last inch of will he possessed, Harry forced the blade downwards at the man's back.

Like a cat, Dolohov threw himself clear, his arm and cloak flying up to intercept the blade that once again went spinning across the stone. However, the distraction was enough for Harry, who scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, turning to face Dolohov who was looking down dispassionately at a gash on his arm.

He lifted his eyes to Harry and another, far more eerie, smile appeared on his lips. Harry swallowed; he had no illusions that he could take the man in a fist fight; the Death Eater had strength and experience on his side. The only thing he could do was hope to last long enough to pick up a wand. As Dolohov stepped forward, Harry readied his fists.

"Enough!" commanded a powerful voice from the other side of the room.

Both Harry and Dolohov turned to see Albus Dumbledore framed in the arch that lead to the moving staircases and the rest of the school. Beads of sweat trickled down the man's ancient forehead and an obvious weariness wracked his body, but his eyes were strong and his wand was raised.

Dolohov regarded Dumbledore with a wary expression, like a cat caught doing something it ought not to be. For a moment he hesitated, then he leapt forward at Harry, who took a half step back.

There was an incredible bang and the large Death Eater was thrown across the room in a cloud of smoke. Albus Dumbledore hobbled a few steps into the room, his wand still raised and his expression severe. When it became apparent that Dolohov was not in any position to move however, he lowered his wand and he faltered, nearly collapsing.

"Professor," said Harry, in concern and leapt to the Headmaster's side.

Up close, Dumbledore looked even worse. His complexion was pallid and his eyes sunken and dark. Sweat shimmered on his skin and his spectacles were bent and misshapen. He looked at Harry with weary eyes.

"Neville?" he asked, his voice weak.

"Safe," replied Harry.

"And the students?" he asked, his voice weak.

"The ones at the match are safe," Harry assured him.

"There are still some in the castle?" asked Dumbledore.

"Twenty three," said Harry, trying to ease the man into a more comfortable position.

"Too many," said Dumbledore, pushing away Harry's hands. "They need help."

"I'll find them," promised Harry. "What happened?"

"Temporal Ghouls," said Dumbledore faintly. "Nine, far more than I expected."

"Who died?"

"Pomona," whispered Dumbledore and Harry finally recognised the weariness in his eyes as sorrow and guilt. "Voldemort."

"Where is he?" asked Harry, his face and tone fast becoming cold.

"Astronomy Tower," murmured Dumbledore, his eyes losing focus as he began to slip into unconsciousness. "I'm sorry."

Harry let the man's head sink slightly and then gently laid him on the ground. He crossed the room, picking his wand out of the debris that filled the room. Then, sweeping it around the room gathered all the Death Eaters together and bound them with thick silver chains.

He picked out Draco Malfoy from the group, the only other person in the group who was still conscious. Harry crouched down before him and for the first time he noticed the raw hate that the boy seemed to direct at him and the unbridled fury in his eyes.

"I'm going to kill you, Potter," he said.

"Are you?" asked Harry, then reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. "You can try."

"Zabini and I-" began Draco but Harry cut him off with a dismissive laugh.

"It was a good trick," admitted Harry. "You caught us all off guard. But it's only a momentary set back. Zabini is dead. You and your friends are here. In a few minutes I will destroy every one of the creatures that prowl this school and then I will turn to the Dark Lord.

"I promise you this Draco," he continued softly. "When this is over, I will not be merciful. I will attack your home, as you have mine and I will destroy everything you hold dear."

Draco's face paled and he opened his mouth to speak. Harry stunned him with a jab of his wand and rose to his feet. Finally he strode over to his father's unconscious form, laying alone in one corner of the entrance hall and revived him. James rose, bleary eyed and rubbing an egg sized lump on his head. He looked around in amazement.

"You were incredible," he said. "Did you get them all?"

"All but Dolohov, Dumbledore helped me with that one," said Harry.

"Dumbledore? Where is he?" asked James, before his eyes found the Headmaster's prone form. "Is he?"

"No, just unconscious," replied Harry. "Exhausted. I need you to take him back to the pitch."

For a moment, Harry thought his father might argue, but after a long, indecisive pause, he nodded. Clearly he saw something in Harry's eyes that told him that arguments were futile, that this was something he had to do alone. Before Harry could turn away, his father seized him in a powerful but awkward embrace. It lingered only a second before he released him, only to take Harry by the face.

"Avenge her, finish this," said James, his eyes hard. "And we'll toast his corpse."

Harry didn't even bother to respond as he turned on his heel and swept out of the Entrance Hall and up the first magically moving staircase. As he climbed, he whistled softly, until there was an answering call.

"Conlaodh," he said. "I need my map."

For a moment, there was silence, then with the sound of rushing air, Conlaodh appeared in a burst of fire and the Marauder's Map fell into Harry's outstretched hand. Harry gave the fire spirit a brief smile as it coiled reassuringly around his forearm.

Without even breaking stride, Harry tapped the parchment with his wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he said and gazed down at its surface.

Tom Riddle currently resided, as Dumbledore had said, in the Astronomy Tower. Alongside his name were those of Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange and Luna Lovegood. Harry crushed the flare of anxiety that leapt into his heart and clenched his teeth. The other students were his priority.

Most were in their respective common rooms; they'd be safe there. The portraits would have locked themselves down and not even Voldemort could break those enchantments. More of a worry to Harry were the five or so students congregated in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Both Ronald Weasley and Dolores Umbridge appeared to be in the room, facing the door, while the students huddled behind them.

"Mischief managed," said Harry with another tap of his wand against the parchment, which he pushed into his pocket.

As he emerged on to the landing, twirling his wand dexterously between his fingers, a hideously familiar smell reached his nostrils. It was the smell of Old Things, of death, of unimaginable horrors and unstoppable monsters.

Harry's lips curled into a smile.

The Temporal Ghoul rounded the corridor before him, malevolent red eyes shining out of the monstrous head of a wolf nine feet off the ground. Dark matted fur clung to the beast in patches on desecrated, rotting flesh. Thick ancient runes were gouged into its body here and there and wept a thick, dark fluid.

As it spotted Harry, a carnivorous smile seemed to overcome its features, displaying a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. A vicious intelligence shined in the eyes that stared at him and it rose up on its hind legs. Its hackles rose and a soft growl rippled its massive body as it tensed every muscle in preparation to strike.

It brushed its head against the ceiling as it came towards him unsteadily on its hind legs, stepping cautiously as though unused to walking in such a contrived fashion. It seemed to exude darkness as it walked and left dark trails of smoke in the air as it moved. A darkness made up of possible futures, pasts and alternate realities shown momentarily through the beast's power.

Harry slipped his wand back in his pocket, stood with his feet spread and bared his own teeth in answer to the challenge. Conlaodh's fire exploded around him, a burning aura that made it appear as though fire was dancing on his skin.

"Heliopath flame," it whispered, its voice soft and deep, echoing a thousand times around Harry's head and every inch as monstrous as it ought to be. "We'll see how much it helps you when I tear you limb from limb."

Harry closed his eyes, collecting himself, enjoying the moment of calm. Conlaodh warmed reassuringly against his arm and his fingers teased the string in his fingers. His weapons against an immortal and ancient foe; string, fire and wits.

Harry's eyes opened and his bared teeth became a smile.

"Big words," said Harry softly. "You'll have to tell me how they taste when I make you eat them."


	11. The Lord of Ruin

******CONLAODH'S SONG**  
Chapter Eleven: The Lord of Ruin

Harry stared at the monster before him, his mind calm, his breathing steady. In turn the ghoul peered back, motionless. Harry knew it would not attack until he made his move, this stale mate could last forever, but time was slipping between his fingers, time he could not afford. Luna and the other Hogwarts students were depending on him.

His eyes moved over the creature slowly, planning his next move carefully. Strategizing, deliberating, weighing his options in his mind.

The glittering teeth and razor claws, while intimidating, were not the monster's true weapons. Temporal Ghouls transcended normal understanding of time and space, effortlessly stepping forward, backward and sideways in time. It made them nigh undefeatable foes, blessing them with reflexes borne of foresight, the ability to move with incredible speed and capitalize on every tiny opening.

Yet Harry had an advantage over his ancient and powerful foe; magic. The beast had no magic of its own, none that could rival Harry's abilities, at least. He'd get one knot tied before it began, one free shot. One chance to blind it to the future. Then he'd have to take his chances with the reflexes, the claws and the teeth.

Harry's fingers deftly tied a knot in the string in his hand and the stalemate was broken.

The ghoul pounced in a whirlwind of teeth and claws. It appeared to be consumed in the ethereal, intangible darkness that it exuded. More smoke than beast. Only the haunting, burning eyes gave any indication of the creature that lurked within the inky cloud.

Harry whirled to one side as the creature crashed down on the floor where he was just standing, its vast claws tearing huge tracks in the crimson carpet. It faced him again, not turning but instead appearing to invert itself through its shroud of darkness. It contemplated Harry with a terrible expression on its murky features; all teeth and furious eyes.

With a furious, blood curdling cry it leapt for him again, forcing Harry to dodge again, his foot entangling itself in the torn edge of the carpet, throwing him slightly off balance. A limb emerged from the darkness at a bizarre angle, as though it weren't connected to a tangible body and caught him in the arm, knocking him off balance.

Harry fell to the floor with a strangled hiss; claws had torn through his robes and left three deep, bloodless tracks in his arm. Once again the creature inverted itself to face him, again it attacked before Harry had a chance to prepare a defence and he had to throw himself backward to avoid the rush of claws aimed at him.

Again, another flailing limb caught him, this time across the chest. The blow tossed him along the corridor like a rag doll and crashing into a suit of armour.

The ghoul closed in to finish him, rearing up on its hind legs to strike the killing blow. For a moment Harry saw his own death in the swirling darkness that surrounded it, but an explosion of fire tore from Harry's body as Conlaodh surged upwards and forced the creature away.

Harry sat up slowly, his vision swimming, stars flashing before his eyes and blood trickling down his forehead. It took him a moment to find his feet, stumbling more than once on the pieces of armour around him.

The ghoul came again and Harry had a split second view of vast teeth bared, ready to tear him in half. He scrambled to the side and away from the beast, which turned on him once more, deftly shifting the momentum of its lunge in the new direction.

Harry's fingers closed around a piece of the armour from beneath him and before he could even rationalize what he was going to do next, he rose, swinging the plate with both hands. The thin edge of the hammered steel struck the monstrous creature under the jaw with a noise like a thunder crack.

Hot, putrid, viscous fluid splattered across Harry's face as the ghoul reeled away with a yelp. The force of the blow was so mighty that it jarred Harry's arms from elbow to shoulder. With a cry of pain, he stumbled under the weight of his own swing, falling again on the pile of armour beneath him.

He gave himself a moment for his vision to clear and his head to stop ringing and once more rose to his feet as the ghoul bounded toward. He whisked himself out of the way as the claws of the beast tore grooves in the wall, scattering dust and rubble across the corridor.

Harry stepped forward, twisting his string into a swift knot. A blow struck the beast with an incredible crash, throwing it backward down the corridor in a shower of darkness, ripped fur and congealed black blood.

Again Conlaodh blossomed out as a burst of fire, but rather than directed at his opponent, the flames became corporeal in Harry's hand.

Harry looked down at the gleaming sword in his hand, wreathed in fire and the smallest of smiles rose to Harry's lips. He looked up as the ghoul thundered down the corridor toward him, teeth bared and eyes burning like the pits of hell and leapt forward.

Harry met the Ghoul in a rush of fire and shadow. They clashed with an explosion that resonated throughout the castle. Doors shook, windows rattled in their panes and every tapestry in the long corridor were blown apart in a whirlwind of ash and smoke that swept around them.

Harry lifted his hand to meet the downward strike from the creature's front paws, Conlaodh's fire strengthening the sword against the sheer power of the blow. For a split second, Harry thought that the power behind the strike would flatten him, but to his surprise he held the beast at a deadlock.

The ghoul leapt away in a roar of pain and frustration. Fire licked at its flesh as it backed away, something akin to fear in its eyes.

Without a second thought Harry flung himself into the attack. The heliopath flame left traces in the air as he swung it in a glittering, arcing pattern around himself. Harry was no swordsman, but between the weightless blade and the incredible connection he felt with Conlaodh, the sword was a blur in his hands.

The ghoul, ears pressed flat to its head, backed away from the blade. Now and then, Harry would flick the sword free of its twirling pattern and lick the flesh of the ghoul faster than it could react. Each time it howled miserably and each time it gave some ground to Harry's relentless onslaught.

Harry had managed to back it up to the end of the corridor, until it had no where else to go, before it attempted a counter attack. It pounced again with a flurry of swipes from its powerful clawed limbs, but Harry and Conlaodh were equal to each one of them.

Again it backed off, but this time Harry did not pursue it. Instead he stood, panting, but with the slightest of smiles on his face, adrenaline coursing through his body and a strange sense of serenity, as though things were exactly as they ought to be.

The ghoul's ears unfolded as it peered at him, then, its entire body shook with a horrific sound that Harry understood to be laughter.

"You are nothing, wizard," he said, glee evident in its tone. It looked down at the myriad of wounds on its flesh that oozed black blood. "These are nothing but scratches. Soon you will tire and I will tear you to shreds."

"The problem with foresight," said Harry, his sword dissolving away into nothing in his hands. "Is that you're so busy looking forward, that you forget to look behind."

The ghoul's expression abruptly changed as its head craned around to see the huge arched window behind it. By the time it looked back to Harry, he'd just finish slipping another knot onto the string in his fingers.

The blow caught the ghoul with enough force to tear the carpet and tapestries around it. It left the corridor and crashed through the window in a shower of splinters, stained glass and black ichor. Harry made it to the sill just in time to see it crash through the greenhouses below, where it burst like water into puddles of shadow that ebbed back into the earth.

Harry allowed himself to falter, for the exhaustion he was feeling to bubble to the surface. He leant against the wall, gasping for breath, his head spinning slightly.

"Conlaodh," he whispered hoarsely. "That bind took too much out of me, I couldn't do it again."

He felt the slightest reassuring push against his mind and he nodded, straightening up and taking deep breaths. His shins ached, his back felt as though he'd just lifted a truck, his lungs were on fire and his eyes burned from the sweat pouring down his forehead.

Regardless he forced himself to start walking in the direction of Umbridge's room. There was no-one else to help them now; his priority had to be getting them to safety.

At the foot of the long spiral staircase, Harry paused, listening intently. Thankful for the lack of any noise above, he pulled himself up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister. Eventually he reached the stout wooden door and knocked gently on it.

"Professor?" he croaked, resting his head against the thick grain. "It's Harry."

The door opened and he sprawled in with it, collapsing at the feet and wand point of everyone in the room. A moment later a dozen hands were lifting him up. He glanced up to see Ron's worried face.

"Are you okay?" he asked urgently. "Did one of those things get you?"

"I'm fine, just exhausted," said Harry, shaking himself free and looking around.

Seven terrified faces, including Ron and Umbridge looked at him for guidance, as they had on the quidditch field. Harry took a deep breath, pushed his exhaustion away and rose up to his full height. He peered around at them imperiously for a moment, before lapsing into an easy grin.

"Come on," he said, with a jerk of his head. "We've gotta get out of here. Keep your wands handy and if we're separated, head for the quidditch pitch, that's where all the other students are waiting."

He turned to Umbridge and the professor gave him a look of helpless terror. Harry knew that now he was there, she was allowing her fear to get the better of her. He couldn't allow it if they had any chance of getting the students out, so he pulled her slightly away from the rest and spoke in her ear.

"You told me last night Professor," he said, his voice low and serious. "That you're here to protect the students of Hogwarts."

"I did," she said, clearly somewhat confused by the direction this conversation was going.

"Now I'm asking you to prove it," said Harry. "I need you to find an open fireplace in the school and make a floo call to the Minister. We need the aurors."

Umbridge looked momentarily torn, unsure if she should be taking orders from Harry, unsure if she wanted to be the one who left the group and walked straight into a potential ambush, alone.

Harry gave her a small smile.

"I know I'm asking too much, Delores," he said softly. "But I'm asking as a friend. I need you to do this."

From her expression, Harry expected her courage to fail and her to refuse, but after a second she gritted her teeth, frowned and nodded.

"Go," urged Harry and the High Inquisitor left as quickly as her stubby legs would take her. "Merlin speed."

"Come on," he urged to the other students, leaving via the door and gazing down the empty spiral stairway. "No time to lose."

Together they crept down the stairs, Harry leading the way, warning them to be as quiet as possible, to attract as little attention as possible. They emerged out onto the seventh floor landing and Ron clutched at Harry's sleeve.

"Harry," he said softly. "Harry, he's got Luna. I saw Black take her."

Harry turned to look at him, then gave a small sad smile.

"I know, Ron," he said and ploughed on toward the staircase.

Ron stopped dead.

"But, aren't you going to help her?"

"There's only one of her," said Harry, stopping and twisting his face slightly in suppressed annoyance. "And seven of you. Simple math, Ron."

"But you love her," he said plainly.

"It doesn't change anything," said Harry. "I won't leave you."

He was aware that everyone else had stopped to observe this conversation. All of them peered at him in confusion and terror.

"But who else is there?" asked Ron persistently, Harry felt a huge swell of annoyance rise up in him.

"Exactly, who else is there Ron? I can only do one thing, I can lead you to safety, or I can go and fight Voldemort for Luna. I should really. But instead I'm here, doing the right thing, instead of the easy thing. I'm doing what she would have urged me to do herself."

"But there's me," said Ron obstinately, his own face flushing and setting grimly. "What was the point of all of those books you left lying around? The little nudges? Why bring me back at all, if not for this?"

Harry shook his head.

"It's not why I did it," he said.

"But it is," snapped Ron in frustration. "You just didn't know it. All of these things have been leading us here and none of us saw them. But now I do. You've got to let me do this."

Harry could only stare at him. Long gone was the depressed boy who sat before the fireplace, speaking words of bitterness and resentment. At some point since he'd become the person before him; strong willed, confident and powerful.

"I've seen you fall," whispered Harry, barely letting the syllables leave his mouth.

"Then I'll die doing the right thing," said Ron.

Harry felt his stomach turn on itself as he stood, split by indecision. Ron pushed him in the direction of the corridor that would take him to the astronomy tower.

"Go," he urged him and in that moment Harry's mind was made up; nothing would stand between him and Luna.

He pushed the hot guilt that rose up inside him away, this one time, just this one time, he would allow himself to be greedy. To choose the easy thing over the right thing. To allow himself one tiny piece of happiness.

"Hurry then," he said, patting Ron on the arm. "And go via the third floor corridor. Trust me."

Then they went in their separate ways, Harry running off in the direction of the astronomy tower and Ron leading the students downward, possibly to his death.

Harry pushed it all out of his mind. Voldemort still had Luna and Harry needed a plan to free her. Brute force wasn't an option; even without factoring Black in the equation, Harry wasn't his equal. Something more subtle then, perhaps; an act of subterfuge or using the element of surprise to his advantage.

All of these thoughts were abruptly pushed out of his head as he rounded the next corner and came face to face with two more Temporal Ghouls. Their eyes gleamed, teeth shone, claws clattered against the stone as they turned to face him.

There was a brief pause, which Harry couldn't help but rejoice in. Perhaps they too wouldn't act until he did; it might give him the chance to devise some form of plan against them. Time to devise a plan of action against Voldemort. Time to give himself any sort of a fighting chance.

A second later they growled and moved in for the kill.

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

Conlaodh surged into his grip again and he flung himself forward, once again possessed by the incredible feeling of power that radiated through him. He parried two attacks, instantaneously, turning them into his own counter attack, which was effortlessly rebuffed.

He was surer of himself this time, more at ease. But the Ghouls too were better this time; faster, quicker, their defences impenetrable. He didn't have the strength to bind their foresight and it would make them unbeatable. All they had to do was outlast him in this battle of attrition and he was already tiring.

"Out of options, out of spells and cleverness, out of time," he murmured to himself. "Out of luck."

Nonetheless he threw himself forward, the flames running the length of his blade arcing as he cut again, only to meet claws again. He evaded the counter attack, only to step straight into the second creature's blow. A moment later he found himself lying several feet away, his ears ringing, his chest aching, blood gushing from the parallel lines of torn flesh the creature had left in his chest.

Gasping for air, he pushed himself to his feet, just in time to deflect another attack. Yet as he raised his sword for the counter, a slash from the other Ghoul came under his guard, raking his leg and knocking him to the floor again.

More blood. More pain.

Harry's head began to swim and he forced himself up again with barely enough strength to lift the sword. He readied it and waited, knowing that the next blow would finish him, knowing that there was no possible way that he could avoid it.

Then, curiously, the Ghouls backed away, bleeding into the shadows of the corridor, leaving this world and heading back to the Old World they'd come from.

Harry stood in the silence, his heart beating in his ears, blood running freely down his body, down his leg and pooling in his shoe. He was alert, ready for a trap, when nothing happened, his wariness became bewilderment.

"Is that it?" he called to the silence.

Then realization dawned on him. He looked up at the ceiling above him and rolled his eyes. Voldemort wanted him wounded; unable to fight, unable to run. It would make his job easier and the bleeding gave Harry no time with which to formulate a plan.

"Oh, right," he said weakly. "That's how it is."

He limped onwards down the corridor until he reached the tight staircase that would lead him up the tower. There he paused and leant his forehead against the cold stone. He could feel the slightest and subtlest of magic creeping through the stone. The thousand year old enchantments on the building, the pulse of the castle's magic.

Conlaodh dissolved back into Harry's body and became a warm, comforting sensation in his mind.

"It's not fair," he said, more to himself than the fire spirit. "The things I could have done. The things I've never seen. I wanted to do so much more."

The Heliopath remained silent and Harry looked down at the blood leaking out of his shoe and pooling around his feet. Harry knew he didn't have the ability to heal the cuts made by those claws. He opted instead to let the pain ebb away, leaving his entire body numb. With a sigh he began to climb.

He emerged into blinding sunlight. The crisp autumn air nipped at his skin as the slightest of breezes ruffled his hair and robes. He'd almost forgotten, wandering the halls of the castle, that it was a beautiful day outside. The sun hung low in the sky, at some point the glorious morning had drifted into a lazy afternoon that'd soon be cut short by the encroaching winter evening.

Somewhere nearby a bird twittered, breaking the silence.

Harry looked impassively into the almost unrecognisable face of Voldemort. Only the red tinges to his eyes gave any hint of the monster that lurked beneath the man's handsome visage. He smiled widely as he saw Harry and took a half step forward, his robes fluttering around him in the wind.

"Hello Harry," he said, affably.

Harry ignored him and his eyes found Luna instead, huddled against the parapet. Scared, tear-streaked but otherwise unharmed. Beside her stood Black, his craggy face twisted in sordid amusement, his fathomless eyes taking in Harry and the trail of blood he left in his wake.

Harry looked at Voldemort.

"Let her go," he said.

Voldemort nodded.

"I will," he said with a casual shrug. "In exchange for one simple thing."

"What's that?" asked Harry, leaning on the doorframe to keep himself upright.

"Your life," said Voldemort plainly. "Her life for yours; no running, no fighting, she gets the protection Neville's mother gave him. Immune from me forever. She lives and you die, willingly."

"Done," said Harry instantly and moved from the doorway.

Voldemort nodded and Sirius pulled Luna to her feet then shoved her roughly at Harry. He caught her, careful not to get too much blood on her and gently her in the direction of the door.

"Go," he said and she did, not meeting his eyes, without saying a word.

Then Harry was left with Voldemort and Sirius Black. The two darkest and most dangerous wizards of the age. Harry thought fear might overwhelm him then, but Conlaodh warmed against his mind, soothing away the terror.

"So how does it feel?" asked Black, his tone lifted in triumph, his smile so deranged it was painful to behold. "To be beaten, to be friendless, to be defenceless and so close to death?"

Harry smiled patiently.

"I am not alone, I am not friendless and I am here by choice," he said, lifting his chin defiantly. "So I'm sure I don't know."

Sirius scoffed but Voldemort raised a hand to silence him.

"You're very brave," said the Dark Lord, curiosity on his features. "Doesn't death terrify you?"

"Of course it does," said Harry and a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed him, he allowed his head to sag. "But there are worse things than death."

"Perhaps there are," murmured Voldemort and tilted his head to one side. "Was there anything else, Harry Potter, before you die?"

"Does it hurt?" he asked, the childish question slipping from between his lips before he could stop it.

"Dying? I wouldn't know, I have never died," replied Voldemort with a strange expression that didn't suit his features. "But I hope it doesn't Harry Potter, for your sake."

Harry realised then that it was empathy, of sorts, that marred his features. With the rejoining of his soul had also come some form of humanity. He was still monstrous, evil and twisted, but less so.

It was little consolation to Harry, though he reflected with a little amusement that it would have made Dumbledore very happy. Then the amusement was replaced by pain as he thought of his mentor, all of the things he wish he'd told him, all of the bad decisions he'd made.

The sudden desire to draw his wand and make a fight of it struck him, to run and survive and fight another day. But it was fleeting. He couldn't have matched Voldemort in top condition, let alone with this ruined body. There was no sense running, no sense fighting, no sense demeaning what little he'd bought with his life.

"Hurry up then," he snapped and Voldemort nodded in response.

"Goodbye," he said and lifted his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

In a flash of green light, everything was gone.


	12. Conlaodh's Song

**CONLAODH'S SONG **  
**Chapter 12: Conlaodh's Song**

Though it had stopped raining an hour ago, the lightest sprinkling of rain still coated the grounds. The tiny beads of precipitation clung to everything, as though someone had spread a fine powder across the castle.

The trees of the forbidden forest were no exception, the waxy surface of their leaves capturing raindrops where they could. High above, the cool moonlight exposed the normally invisible spider webs strung between the branches.

The carpet of discarded autumn leaves were damp under foot, their usual fiery colours and crackle extinguished by the damp. They slid beneath his feet as he strode down the slight incline that led from the castle down into the forest and the valley floor.

He couldn't remember what day it was, or even what month. He couldn't remember what he'd done yesterday, or even if he'd brushed his teeth before bed. Anything he tried to remember drew a complete blank.

His mind felt as though someone had scrubbed it clean and white-washed everything he'd known. There were some vague ideas, some people he'd met, but it was all as though it were a very odd dream, that had slipped away in the moment of waking.

The forest was dark and deep and silent, the only sound his own footsteps through the sodden debris on the ground and steady beat of his heart against his ribcage and in his ears.

He walked for what seemed like forever, deeper and deeper into the forest. More than once the gnarled, twisting foliage snagged on his clothes, tearing his cloak and slowing his progress.

Eventually, he stepped into a clearing he'd never seen before. It was perfectly circular, as though someone had sculpted it from the forest. Aromatic, freshly mown grass rolled away from him, blue in the moonlight.

Seven standing stones stood in a circle where the trees broke, each standing at seven feet tall with complex engravings on the surface. At the centre of the circle a stone dais rose out of the earth, upon which stood a stone arch.

Standing upon the dais, looking directly at him were two figures that were simultaneously entirely alien and completely familiar. The larger stepped forward, his arms out stretched, beckoning Harry forward. Harry instantly recognised the round cheeked face, the sparkling blue eyes and wide, relaxed grin.

"Harry," said Conlaodh, beaming at him. "Glad you could join us."

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," said Harry, climbing the stairs up the dais.

"Nonsense," said Conlaodh, stepping forward and seizing him in a fierce embrace that felt oddly comfortable and entirely natural.

When they broke apart, Harry took a moment to examine the man before him. Conlaodh appeared barely older than Harry; perhaps seventeen years old, the slightest dusting of stubble was evident on his jaw. His skin was slightly bronzed, as though he'd spent a lot of time out doors. The plain white dress shirt and black trousers he wore were strangely proportioned and ill-fitting, but suited him nonetheless.

Then his eyes turned away from Conlaodh and Harry felt himself lose control of his jaw.

Beside Conlaodh stood the single most beautiful creature that Harry had ever set eyes on. Every inch of the elf, which Harry immediately recognised her as, was devastatingly perfect. From her luminous porcelain skin to her smouldering, endless green eyes. And as he looked into them, he was overcome with a smooth reassurance that crept into the very essence of his being.

She smiled at him, revealing a mouth of perfect, dainty teeth and Harry found himself unconsciously returning the gesture.

"Oh you brave, wonderful man," she said and lifted her hand to his face, her fingers running across his cheek.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I don't really under-"

Then in that moment everything he'd forgotten came flooding back to him; the quidditch match, the Temporal Ghouls, the tower, Voldemort and-

"Ah," said Harry. "I'm dead."

Conlaodh laughed and the elf smiled pleasantly.

"Well that's the whole point," said Conlaodh. "You're very much alive."

"But Voldemort's curse-" began Harry, but the elf broke him off with a snort.

"Feeble, short-sighted magic," she said, then made to continue, but Conlaodh interrupted with a cough. "Very well then, I suppose it is your story to tell."

"Come, Harry," said Conlaodh with a dazzling smile. "Sit with us and I'll tell you a story."

"What kind of story?" asked Harry.

"My favourite kind," replied Conlaodh, winking at him. "The kind about my own startling brilliance."

All three of them sat on the edge of the dais, Conlaodh on his right and the elf on his left, staring out into the peaceful forest that surrounded them. The trees were perfectly still and silent, as though they'd been frozen in time. Not even the slightest of breezes disturbed their slumber. After a moment of silence, the elf leant her head on Harry's shoulder, an affectionate action that Harry found entirely comfortable.

"I suppose I ought to start at the beginning," said Conlaodh, a distant, far away expression in his eyes. "I was once like you; a young, exceptionally gifted wizard. Though perhaps a little more egotistical."

He laughed again, but this time sounded a little bitter.

"I too delved into the world of Old Magic, though for less noble reasons than you. I was dying, you see. Long before my time and I went seeking power and immortality. I was young, naive and toying with forces and creatures a thousand leagues beyond what I could comprehend."

The elf, her head still on Harry's shoulder, giggled and Conlaodh shot her a look that was both disapproving and affectionate.

"I sought the answer to my curse," he said. "Two long years I spent fruitlessly searching, before she came to me. And she told me the story of the Illiastor, two powerful siblings of Elfhame who had brought about the destruction of their world. One was corrupted by the pursuit of ultimate pleasure and the other who sacrificed her entire race to the beast in an attempt to destroy it.

"She gave me what I so desperately sought, immortality, with the promise that I would come to save her world within a month. And I, like a fool, was ecstatic."

He caught Harry's glance and shook his head.

"Oh I knew the cost. But what did I care? I didn't want to die; there was no worse thing in the world to me. Disappearing without a trace, a footnote in the pages of history." He laughed bitterly. "I was terrified by it Harry, in a way you couldn't possibly understand. We're so different you and I. You who were prepared to die for those you loved and I who was prepared to sacrifice everything to live."

"So the weeks drifted by and I squandered them, as was inevitable I suppose, then she came for me again-"

"You're Conle," interrupted Harry, his eyes wide with surprise. "The boy with the apple."

Conlaodh nodded, a rueful expression on his features.

"Names change with the retelling of such stories and the apple? Well I suppose it has long since become the symbol of temptation. But yes, I am Conlaodh, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles. Heir to a High King of Ireland and the Uí Néill. Wizard, sorcerer, fool."

They drifted into a long, uneasy silence, punctuated only by the movement of the elf, who shifted the position of her head on Harry's shoulder so she could look up into his face.

"I'm sorry," said Harry eventually. "But I don't see what this has got to do with me."

"Ah but it's of the utmost importance," said Conlaodh. "Because I was once human and that I hope will have made all the difference. Let me finish.

"Elfhame, the Plain of Delight, had died long before I reached it. The civilisation that had been there was gone and all that remained were the dregs; the protective enchantments that would last forever, evil spirits of a bygone age and two elves locked in continual struggle that had lasted millennia."

Harry turned to the elf and the slightest of smiles crept on to her face.

"You're the elf that spoke to me on the Star Stairs," said Harry, only now recognising her. "From Frank Bryce's body."

"I did," she said and closed her eyes.

Conlaodh continued his story.

"So she gave me what I so desperately sought. But immortality, as Voldemort would certainly attest, always has its cost. I became a spirit of fire, my soul trapped and continually wreathed in flame. She wanted to use me as a weapon; she had explained as much, she could give me the means with which to destroy the beast, but not the opportunity. That, I'd have to wait for but what did I care? I was more powerful than I ever could have imagined, I was immortal and I was a god of my own little world."

He sighed and hesitated, shaking slightly from the effort of laying his soul bare. The elf reached around Harry to touch him and Conlaodh pulled away as though burned. With a soft smile, the elf continued the story on his behalf.

"And then you came a long, Harry," she said, her words soft against his ear. "At first we were terrified that you would release him upon the world, for him to consume and destroy it as he had my own. But then we saw your mind, Conlaodh first, though he could not trust what he saw but then you walked my staircase-"

She let her hand drift across Harry's cheek again, her finger tips exceedingly gentle against his skin.

"And I knew that you would do what we could not," she said and Harry turned a look of confusion upon her. "Risk your life. Forgive me, I used you, but you were brilliant and brave and pure. Who but you would walk into the depths of hell for love?"

"I still don't understand what-" began Harry but Conlaodh cut him off.

"And then you did what neither of us, what nobody could have expected," he said and Harry could see him begin to get a little agitated with the re-telling. "My life was bound to the magic of that world and the last of it died with the beast. You offered to take me with you and that changed everything."

"But I still-" tried Harry again, but he was interrupted again.

"Don't you see it?" asked Conlaodh, dropping from the dais and pacing a little way away, almost wringing his hands in frustration. "You perhaps didn't understand the enormity of what you did, but by making that offer, you saved my life. From that moment forward I was no longer bound to the beast, but to you! For months our souls have been bleeding together, parts of me have become you and parts of you have become me."

Harry stared at him, his mouth slightly open as what Conlaodh was suggesting dawned upon him.

"You see it now?" asked Conlaodh, his eyes ablaze with an emotion Harry couldn't really identify. "You see now what it is that I'm trying to tell you?"

"I do," said Harry.

And he did. Conlaodh had protected Harry in the most fundamental way imaginable. By entwining their lives, their essence and their souls together, he could take Voldemort's curse for Harry.

"But you'll die," whispered Harry, terrified of uttering the syllables that barely left his lips.

Conlaodh smiled and the passion that had flared up in his eyes died away.

"And I will be glad of it," he said, then chuckled at Harry's confusion. "One and a half millennia of living with all my mistakes are enough for anyone."

Harry swallowed and Conlaodh abruptly turned upon the elf, his eyes dark and hard.

"And you," he said with a surprising amount of venom in his voice. "You tell him what he needs to know."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, turning to look down at her.

The elf rolled her head to the side and rose daintily, she moved over to Conlaodh, each step elegant, poised and weightless as though she wasn't as much walking on the ground as walking despite it. She touched his face in much the same way she had Harry's and to his surprise, Conlaodh's expression morphed into one of complete disgust. She turned back to Harry.

"The Dark Lord is closer to achieving his goal than either you or your master knows," she said. "In a few short months he will reach the Throne and possess unimaginable power. Your world will be darker than you can possibly imagine. I can help you stop him. If you'll let me."

Harry stared into her endless eyes again and drew the same warmth he never would have expected from them. He desperately fought against the calming sensation they seemed to exude and clung to what Dumbledore had told him, even though it seemed insignificant in the face of all he'd learned tonight

"No matter how they may appear," he said, Dumbledore's voice echoing in his mind. "Or behave, they act only in their own selfish interests. They know no other way."

Behind her, Conlaodh smiled broadly.

"Wise words," she said and her eyes left his face. "I do act out of my own interest, but there's no reason that our interests could not be shared."

Harry looked to Conlaodh for guidance.

"Should I trust her?" he asked.

"Never," replied Conlaodh. "Give her an inch of rope and she will hang you with it. What she says is the truth, but never all of it."

She turned and directed a slightly amused expression at Conlaodh, who scowled back.

"Why come to me?" asked Harry and they both turned to face him. "Why not Dumbledore? He's the master. Not me. Why not Neville? He's the one marked by prophesy."

"I have no interest in killing the Dark Lord," she explained. "He seeks to obtain the Throne and I must choose one to mobilize against him."

"Someone that you can manipulate to use the Throne's power in the manner of your choosing," interjected Conlaodh and the elf turned an expression of deep scathing upon him.

"But why me?" asked Harry again.

"Because you have everything to gain and little to lose," she said. "Dumbledore would seek to prevent the Dark Lord from acquiring such a power but would never trust himself with such a temptation. The Chosen One seeks a world without the Dark Lord, he has the desire and perhaps enough ability to use the Throne but his desire for a world with the woman he loves is too strong, it is not something he'd be prepared to risk."

"Ginny," whispered Harry; he hadn't known Neville's feelings for her were that strong.

"Yes," said the elf, with a slight smile. "Noble goals but they seek to achieve their goals via conventional methods. The things you desire, the things Voldemort desires, are only achievable by twisting reality to your whim. That's why you must go, not the Chosen One, not Dumbledore, the power to wield such a terrible gift is nothing if not fuelled by desire."

Harry turned around his mind whirring. Hermione; that's what the elf was offering him. He'd promised that this was a chapter of his life he'd put behind him, but now she was offering him the chance to remake history.

And that was the crux of it, thought Harry. He was prepared to unmake heaven and earth for love and the elf sought to manipulate it. But he couldn't see a choice in the matter, whatever the Throne was, it was an object of incredible power and if Voldemort reached it first- Harry didn't even like to think.

But even as he allowed himself to be caught in the momentary fleeting hope that he could be reunited with her, the thoughts of another crept into his mind. The slightest flick of blonde hair, the dreamy smile on her face. He turned back to the elf.

"What if that's not what I want any more?" he asked.

The elf smiled and shrugged, an expression of kind patience inscribed on her features.

"Then everything is lost," she said. "But I shan't hold my breath, Harry Potter. You don't love her."

"You don't know that."

"Of course I do. You know that and so does she. You only love what she represents- a second chance to do things right. You think that by loving her and keeping her safe you can redeem yourself. Perhaps more importantly that maybe you might be able to start forgiving yourself. But you never will, Harry Potter. As long as you live you'll regret what could and should have been."

Harry shook his head and took a step backward. The elf sighed and turned another dirty look upon Conlaodh.

"I see you'll never fully trust me," she said. "But I offer something freely, as proof of my good intentions. I can tell you how to beat Voldemort to the Throne, then the choice is yours; trust the Chosen One to best him and allow the status quo to remain unchanged or take the reigns of the world in hand. Come."

She took him by the hand and drew him from the dais and to one of the standing stones at the edge of the clearing. Now that he was closer, he could see the intricacy and inherent beauty of the design carved into the stone.

It took Harry a few moments to comprehend the image depicted by the carving, such was the complexity, but finally he understood what it represented.

"The Sun," he said, tracing his fingers over the etching, his mind suddenly engaged and he smiled as he realised the positions of the various stones dotted around the circle. "The seven pointed star."

"Very astute," she purred, it was such an odd noise coming from her that he couldn't help but turn and look at her.

The smile she gave him made him shudder, but the pleasure of solving the puzzle forced away the apprehension that overtook him.

"So that's the Moon," he clarified, pointing to one of the stones on the opposite side of the circle, then to each in turn. "Then that's Mars, Mercury, Jupiter and Saturn."

"Correct."

"The Elven Star," he said, his mind still working furiously, he turned to face the arch in the middle. "Then that's the-"

"-Pleiadean Gate," she finished for him. "The last entrance to the sunken city."

"Murias?" asked Harry.

"Murias, Cantre'r Gwaelod, Ys, Kitzeh, Antillia, these are all myths that speak of the same place."

"And Atlantis?" asked Harry.

"No," said Conlaodh from behind them, Harry could hear the smirk in his voice. "That is just a myth."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, but clambered back onto the dais and approached the arch.

"Be careful," whispered the elf. "Even in your dreams that arch holds a power you ought not to test."

Harry reached out and held his fingers an inch over the stone. There were no decorative engravings here, just bare stone that seemed to radiate cold. Warily, he touched his fingers to the stone and instantly recoiled as the magic of the arch arced through his entire body.

The elf gently tugged him away and he collapsed to his knees at her feet, his body still twitching.

"I warned you," she whispered.

It took Harry a moment to recover his composure and break free of her grasp. He rose and stared at the arch warily, then walked around it, gazing intently at it. He took a tentative step toward the arch, reached out his hand, but at the last moment thought better of it and turned to her at last.

She now held a strange object in her hands; a metallic box perhaps the size of wall clock, with a number of dials and hands covering the surface. She held it out for him to examine.

"This is the Illiastorian Compass, though I believe your people call it the Antikythera Mechanism," she replied, looking down at it fondly. "My greatest creation. This is what it ought to be. In reality it is ruined after lying at the bottom of the ocean for millennia before it was rediscovered. For a century or more this invention drove the forward thinking men of the world in their quests, then it was lost to the world and fell into obscurity.

"You understand the significance of the Elven Star? It is the key to Morias, to Urubutsin, to the old ways. You must find these stones, for each contains wisdom; magic that will help you unlock the mysteries of the arch.

"And the Illiastorian Compass, will help guide you to these stones."

"And you can't just tell me where they are?" asked Harry with a laugh.

She gave him a severe look.

"If I knew, I would. The men I tasked took centuries and didn't find a single stone; you have to be better than them, better than the Dark Lord. He himself has already found two and he is working with their notes alone. If you take the Compass, you will have the advantage and can still beat him to the gate. But you don't have long. A year perhaps if he is very slow.

"You may be that lucky, his attention is divided between you, the Ministry, the Headmaster and the Chosen One. He fears death and failure more than you. This may lend you enough time, but you must start your search soon, or not at all."

"What does Voldemort have to fear from the Ministry?" asked Harry.

"The gate is there," she said reluctantly. "They built their power around it, but don't understand it. Voldemort seeks to take control of their power and the gate."

Harry lifted one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he tried to wrap his head around the vast quantity of information he'd absorbed. His brain, as capable as it was, was being pushed to its maximum capacity.

"So I need to find this compass thingy," he said.

"And steal it," she concluded. "It'll guide you to the stones."

"Any other ridiculous age-old relics you'd like me to locate?" asked Harry and Conlaodh giggled. "The Arc of the Covenant? Gungir? The Holy Grail?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Besides, the Holy Grail was found centuries ago."

And with that, she disappeared as quietly and suddenly as though she'd never been there at all. Conlaodh stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's time, Harry," he said. "All you've got to do now is choose to go back."

But Harry felt as though there was a nest of vipers stirring in his stomach. He didn't want to make the choice between life and death. He didn't particularly want to die, but neither did he want Conlaodh to die. to be the one that made that choice, to take the life of a friend.

Conlaodh smiled as though he could read his mind.

"They say that all men are equal in the eyes of death," he said. "That it topples the mightiest King and the lowliest serf with the same enthusiasm. Death cannot be bought, cannot be reasoned with, cannot be frightened, cannot be escaped. They say that no matter how far you run, how hard you try; death will find you and claim you. Now it is my turn to pay my dues.

"You've got to be ready, Harry Potter," he continued and Harry could already sense him drifting. "The Dark Lord will still be there, this is your second and final chance. I can't help you again."

"I will be," promised Harry, determination of the kind he'd never felt before slipping on to his face and into his mind. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Conlaodh. "Remember Harry, you have nothing to fear from returning here."

"I know," he said and couldn't help the tears that appeared in his eyes.

"Oh and Harry," said Conlaodh, his voice much quieter now. "There's someone you forgot."

"I'm sorry?" asked Harry, as mist billowed in through the window, swirled around the arch and surrounded the pair of them.

"You forgot her," said Conlaodh, his voice sounding as though from miles away.

Then he was gone.


	13. The Siren's Call

******CONLAODH'S SONG**  
Chapter 13: The Siren's Call

Harry awoke to the softest of breezes ruffling the hair on his head, to the feeling of clean pressed sheets enveloping his body. He knew these feelings well, the soft embrace of these sheets and the softest clinks of glass that surrounded him. He'd been in the hospital wing too many times not to know exactly where he was.

He lay perfectly still for the longest time, his eyes closed tightly against the warm light that streamed through the open window above to fall across his face. He knew, more acutely than he'd ever known anything else in his life, that the worst possible mistake he could make would be to open his eyes.

It was fear that stayed his eyelids. Fear in the knowledge that when he finally opened them, his eyes would be exposed to a world that was irreparably damaged. So he lay their, his eyes tight shut, clinging to the hope that he might never have to open them, that he could stay in this single spot for the rest of his days.

Visitors came and went in single file, he heard the impatient pacing footsteps of Ron, the hushed whispers of Neville, the terror in his father's breathing, the soft silence that Dumbledore exuded. Regardless, Harry lay with his eyes tightly shut and his back turned against them and eventually, gratefully, he slipped back into slumber.

It was dark when he awoke again and when Harry opened his eyes it was as though he hadn't. The world around him was still and silent and it took him a moment to realise that exactly had woken him. Seconds turned into minutes and Harry stared into the darkness. Slowly and almost inaudibly, a figure emerged from the shadow and came to stand beside his bed.

Wordlessly, Harry edged back on the mattress and Luna clambered onto the bed, they lay facing each other, their bodies crushed together. Slowly Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and Luna's hands clasped tightly to the front of his pyjamas. Harry leant forward so that their noses touched and their breath mingled in the space between their mouths.

For the longest time neither of them said anything, they just lay together, the warmth of their flesh huddled against the darkness. Then slowly, unbidden, Luna lifted her mouth to his and their lips met. The kiss was slow, soft and mournful. When their mouths separated Harry rested his forehead on the top of her head and held her close.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Me too," she replied, with almost imperceptible quietness. "On the tower—"

"I know," he said.

"I couldn't even look at you. I should have looked at you, I'm sorry," said Luna. "But I was so scared."

"It's alright," said Harry, lifting her hand to his mouth and gently kissing it.

She sighed and Harry let her hand fall away.

"I've got to go away for a while," he said.

"How long?" she asked.

"I don't know," replied Harry truthfully. "As long as it takes."

She was silent, so Harry continued.

"You should be safe, from him. I didn't die for you, but I meant to and that ought to be enough."

"I wish you hadn't," said Luna, sounding very strange and then fell very quiet.

It was only then, in those minutes of silence that Harry realised why she was here; this was her goodbye as much as it was his. He felt as though he ought to be angry, but instead he found he understood. She knew as well as he that his destiny was as entwined with Voldemort's as much as Neville's was. What future was there for them?

He lifted his hand and cupped her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. She stared back and despite that she was barely visible in the darkness he could see the tears in her eyes.

"Come back," she whispered, an element of childishness slipping into her voice. "Please don't die."

Then with a final brush of her lips against his, she left him in the darkness.

**:nmb:**

It was morning when he was joined by Dumbledore, pale fire silhouetting his clothed form against the open window. Harry turned to the Headmaster and for a the briefest of fleeting moments, their long, drawn faces and empty eyes mirrored each other. Then Harry smiled and came to sit on the bed.

Harry spent a moment examining his mentor with the slightest concern. There was none of the usual lustre in the Head Master's eyes, just a deep exhaustion and an overwhelming sadness. He sat in the chair opposite him and neither of them spoke for a while, merely letting the presence of the other calm them.

"Conlaodh?" asked Dumbledore eventually. It was a cryptically sparse question but Harry understood perfectly.

"He took the curse," replied Harry. "He's gone."

Dumbledore nodded as though he has suspected as much.

"He had twisted our souls together, somehow," said Harry. "Now that he's gone, I feel different."

"If you would allow me to suggest," said Dumbledore, contemplatively. "I think perhaps it was his presence that made you feel differently. You have been acting rather odd this term. I suspect you will find yourself returning to normal shortly."

"Ron? Severus? The students?" asked Harry, after a moment of silence.

"All alive, thankfully," replied Dumbledore. "Mister Weasley required some patching up, but appears none the worse for wear."

"But Proffesor Sprout?"

"Unfortunately Pomona is no longer with us," said Dumbledore, his voice reflecting his heavy heart, he turned weary eyes upon Harry. "Her funeral is this afternoon."

Harry felt a lump creep up into his throat.

"I feel I owe you an apology," said Dumbledore, in a strained voice. "I did not take your warning about Draco as seriously as I should have."

"Don't say that," replied Harry, shaking his head, feeling tears creeping back into his eyes. "Not now."

Dumbledore nodded again but remained silent.

"Do you remember the last night we spent in Ireland, before returning to England."

Dumbledore nodded and the slightest ghost of a smile reached his lips.

"When we sat among the dunes," continued Harry. "Watched the gulls dive over the spray and followed the sun fall as it set over the horizon. The sky looked just like the world was ending, burning orange and red in the distance. And the air was so thick you could taste it."

"Like warm honey," agreed Dumbledore quietly.

Harry's face darkened.

"And you know, I sat there and I saw through that beauty and lustre. I couldn't see what was right in front of my face. All I could see was what Voldemort could destroy. And I knew that, no matter what, I had to stop him. That it didn't matter what it cost, provided there were still people to sit in those dunes and watch the sun set and see the beauty I couldn't."

Dumbledore was silent and stared into the distance, his face set in grim lines.

"I can't do what you asked," continued Harry, blinking to clear his eyes. "I can't stay here to protect the students. I've got to leave."

"I feared as much," replied Dumbledore, finally looking back at him. "Where are we going?"

Harry's face fell at the question, his stomach twisting into a knot.

"You can't come," he replied. "Not this time."

Dumbledore looked at him in astonishment. Harry fancied he could see a little hurt in the old man's pale blue eyes.

"I don't think I can trust you to do what needs to be done," said Harry, staring at the outline of his feet beneath the bedsheets. "Or rather, I don't think I can trust you to let me do it."

"Ah," replied Dumbledore, his manner abruptly becoming grave. "Must it come to that?"

"It must," said Harry.

"But you shall come to the funeral?" asked Dumbledore. "Before you leave?"

"Of course," replied Harry. "Though I will use Draco's cloak. It would make it easier if you told them that I didn't make it through."

"It is not a ploy that will hold up to much scrutiny," the Headmaster replied.

"It'll give me a couple of days on him," said Harry with a shrug. "It's all I'll really need."

"I shall give you some addresses," said Dumbledore. "Places to stay, people to meet. Is there anything else you require?"

"The sword," responded Harry immediately. "Your bag, a lot of luck."

"You will have as much as I can spare," replied Dumbledore, with a chuckle. Something his eyes began to burn slightly brighter, as though he were returning somewhat to his old self.

Harry reached out and lifted the old man's hand from where it rested on the old man's faded robes. He squeezed it affectionately and smiled.

"Thank you."

Dumbledore smiled back.

"I suppose the time has come for us to be equals," he said.

Harry laughed quietly.

"I'll never be your equal, Headmaster," he replied sincerely.

**:nmb:**

Overnight, winter had crept in, the clear blue skies of the weekend led to frost sweeping across the grounds. The temperature plummeted so rapidly that the lake was covered with a layer of ice and the hundreds of people flocking to fill the seats beside it were wrapped up heavily in furs and thick robes.

Harry joined the back row, where the rest of the stragglers were sitting, joining the service five minutes late, so that the crunch of his feet against the frozen grass and his breath, visible in the cold air, would go unnoticed.

He wore Draco's cloak over his head and was careful to sit as far away from everyone else as possible, allowing Dumbledore's booming words to disguise his arrival.

"Pomona Sprout," said Dumbledore, his eyes lingering on Harry's for the slightest of moments. "Was an incredible teacher. Truly, a pillar of this school, upon which so many of us, student and staff alike, depended—"

Harry let the Headmaster's words wash over him and turned his attention to the crowd. Sat in the front three rows were the students of Hufflepuff, each of them pale and distraught. Professor Sprout had been approachable, friendly and had cared for each of her house as if they were her own, Harry couldn't begin to imagine how vulnerable they felt.

But it was not just the Hufflepuffs who mourned her, each of the students, the staff, the villagers and the hundreds of others who'd turned up to note the passing of an extraordinary witch. A woman who'd been brilliant, brave and yet never too busy to dish out a kind word to every person she met.

Harry felt ashamed he'd never gotten to know her better.

"Never before has Hogwarts been blessed to have such a fiercely dedicated member of staff. This school was her life's work and each of us who have passed through her halls during her tenure here have been, in our own way, her family—"

Harry let the words fade away again, lost to the wind that howled across the grounds, and gathered his cloak tighter around him. Toward the front, with Ginny and Ron either side of him, sat Neville, tears streaming down his face. Harry felt a sudden pang of pity; Neville had been closer to Sprout than perhaps any other professor, including Dumbledore.

Beside him sat Ron, a thick scar running diagonally across his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. He was far paler than Harry could ever remember seeing him before and his face was set in grim, straight lines. Nearby were the students he'd protected, each determined to sit as close to him as possible.

Then, on her own near the back was Luna. She too was crying, but her tears were slightly undermined by her inappropriate choice of headgear. Resting upon her hat, was a vast badger head that loomed two feet over the rest of the congregation. Every now and then it would turn a savage look on those around it, but had, at least, remained mercifully silent.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but smile.

Gently he rose from his seat, walked to the end of the row and followed it down until he could squeeze in behind Neville. He immediately noticed his presence, for he stiffened and turned his head slightly, his fingers reaching for his wand.

"It's me, Neville," he murmured and Neville relaxed slightly.

Dumbledore had handed over on the raised platform to a tiny wizard with white fluffy hair. As the Headmaster left the platform he let the fingers of his left hand trail over the mahogany coffin that rested there and Harry thought he could see tears streaming down the old man's face.

"How are you?" asked Neville, in the same low voice Harry had used.

"Fine," replied Harry tersely and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I've got to go for a little while."

"Go where?"

"I can't tell you. Just promise me you'll keep up your occlumency, and your old magic. I have a feeling you'll need both before long."

"I promise," said Neville, in a fierce whisper. "Take care of yourself."

The elderly wizard had stopped talking and Harry turned back to watch the podium. Long, strong creepers rose from the ground, wrapping themselves around the coffin, their tendrils sticking fast. A quiet buzz went through the audience as they watched them drag the coffin from the podium and smoothly into the ground. No sooner had it disappeared than thousands of flowers burst into life across the freshly turned earth. Tulips, daffodils, cannas, hydrangea, zantedeschia, bluebells and a hundred other types that Harry couldn't even identify sprang up over the grave.

Dumbledore once again took the stage, flashing a meaningful look in Harry's direction.

It was time to go.

**:nmb:**

By the time the sun set again, snow had begun to fall, a quick response to the overwhelming sunshine of the last two days. It was across a world blanketed with fresh white snow that Harry began to trudge, heading down from the castle under the guise of night and passing through the towering gates.

The sword of Godric Gryffindor was slung across his back, the blood red rubies in the hilt catching the gleam of moonlight reflected by the snow. His hair was once more cropped close to his head and he had lifted his hood to shield his exposed flesh from the cold night air.

He slipped between the buildings of Hogsmeade, moving from alley to alley as stealthily as possible. Now and then, he would prick his ears at the sound of movement; departing villagers from the Three Broomsticks, the low morbid tones of a dirge escaping from the Hogshead as the door opened and closed, the soft sounds of snow slipping from a tree.

It was not until he reached the edge of the small village and emerged into the small copse of trees that he drew both sword and wand. Moving swiftly and silently, he pressed himself in against the trunk of a tree, concealing himself from the direction he just came.

Only a few seconds later another dark form passed by the tree, moving almost as quietly as Harry had done. In a practiced, fluid motion, Harry seized the figure and swung it around and down, pressing it to the ground and covering it's face with one hand.

He looked down into the face of his father with the slightest of grins.

"Knew you'd try to follow me," he whispered. "I heard Prongs from the other side of the village, you ought practice more."

His father, unable to reply, fixed him with a glare. But his eyes flickered away at the sound of movement nearby. Harry frowned.

"One of yours?" he asked, but James shook his head as best he could.

With a quick flurry of hand signals, the pair of them rose from the snow and crept in opposite directions into the undergrowth, using the darkness to their advantage, intending to circle back on their persuer.

Harry moved as silently as possible, his breath rippling before his eyes in a faint mist, his heart hammering inside his chest. He had thought before it was only his father following him on Dumbledore's behest and catching him out had been a bit of sport. However if the second tail was an an agent of Voldemort's, this little game had the potential to be deadly.

He tucked himself in between two bushes and waited, his ears pricked and his eyes keen, ready to pick out any shape or sound in the darkness. He kept the weapon in his hand low, against the snow, to prevent any reflection from the blade warning his prey.

A few seconds passed before he was rewarded with the sight of a dark shape inching through the copse only a foot or so from where he lay in wait. He allowed the figure to get a little closer and then flung himself from his hiding spot and crashing the hilt of the sword into the back of the figure's head, pitching them forward and jarring the wand from their hand.

He threw his entire weight on his opponent, who wheeled madly, arms and legs flying in all directions. Whoever it was, it was clear that they were completely dazed from the blow and Harry had no trouble at all pinning them to the floor beneath his knees.

"Got him!" he called out into the darkness precisely as his father called the exact same thing.

With a frown on his face, Harry picked up the dropped wand and pulled the figure below him to their feet, dragging them in the direction of his father's voice. Clearly they had both had the same idea for they met in a clearing between them. Harry pushed his captive into the centre and James followed suit, each covering the prisoners with their wands.

"Lumos," muttered Harry, having sheathed the sword and lifted the captive's wand above his head.

For a moment all four of them stared at each other in astonishment. Then Harry recalled Conlaodh's final words to him and he began to chuckle slightly.

"What's so funny?" asked his father, sounding annoyed.

"Conlaodh has a horrible sense of humour," replied Harry, staring down at the two people on the floor. "I suppose you're both coming along as well?"

High above a single fieldfare, separated from the flock, fluttered against a steadily encroaching north wind. Alone, friendless and freezing, it cried it's plight to the sky, the moon and the snow.

**The End**


End file.
